


In Plain Sight

by vienn_peridot



Series: Syngnath Chronicles [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: AU: Syngnath, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alien Sex, Angst, Blurr Whump, Dodgy Alien Biology, Energy Field Sexual Interfacing, Filial Cannibalism, Hurt/Comfort, Incubator!Breakdown, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Miscarriage, One Night Stands, Original Cybertronian Characters - Freeform, Other, Ovaria!Blurr, Ovaria!Knockout, Ovicide, Oviposition, Shockwave is a sneaky bastard, Stalking, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-19 08:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2381045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Syngnath, a Cybertronian subspecies that is the stuff of legends.<br/>The bad kind of legends. The ones that involve innocent Cybertronians dragged off to host broods of evil spark-eating babies.<br/>Special Agent Blurr of the Elite Guard is a Syngnath, stationed in the heart of Iacon. Life goes smoothly for Blurr until his Commanding Officer is replaced while he is on leave.<br/>This 'Longarm' Prime develops suspicions about Blurr's true nature that could prove very, very dangerous for the Syngnathi mech. That is, if Longarm's own secrets don't render the situation moot. . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first sticky weirdness! This has been edited but not Beta-Read  
> Tags will be updated as I go. I think there's enough warnings up there for starters?  
> Strap yourselves in, kids. It's gonna be WEIRD.  
> *Rolls into septic tank*

Blurr was jerked out of recharge by an uncomfortable rippling in his lower belly.

It was time.

The Agent buried himself under the mound of blankets piled on his berth, pretending he hadn’t felt anything and hoping against hope that this wasn’t actually happening.

A brief notification ping to his HUD informed him that yes, it was.

Whether he wanted it to or not.

The blue mech moaned in denial as his innards stirred, shifting relentlessly through a minor transformation sequence he wasn’t able to halt. Rolling onto his back, Blurr watched with dispassionate optics as his slightly distended abdomen writhed, obvious indicator of changes taking place behind the layer of flexible dermal metal.

Tentative black fingers traced the shifting parts from the outside, knowing from experience that it would only be a matter of joors now before he could reattach his abdominal armour and leave his apartment safely again. He’d had to remove the light, flexible armour plating that normally protected the area two orns ago for fear of warping it.

Warped abdominal armour would be a dead giveaway that something strange was going on.

At least he could explain the four claspers tucked into his valve folds as a particularly kinky valve mod if they happened to emerge during a good interface. Mechs had dome stranger things to their equipment, after all.

Besides, anyone who encountered them  _definitely_ appreciated what Blurr’s claspers could do to a spike.

No complaints to be found there.

A growing liquid pressure against his interface panels warned the spy that it was time to move if he didn’t want to deal with an enormous mess on his berth.

Slowly, the slender blue mech crawled to the edge of the berth, dragging the blankets with him. It wasn’t far from the berthroom to his private washracks, but it felt like walking from Iacon to Kaon with a busted T-Cog and half the servomotors in his legs blown.

He knew; he’d done it.

Blankets draped over his spaulders, one hand on the wall and the other cradling his rapidly expanding abdomen, Blurr staggered into the washracks on shaking legs and shut the door behind him. He would deal with the little trail of lubricant dribbled on the floor later. The blankets slid from Blurr's back as he dropped to his knees with a groan, both arms moving to wrap around his middle.

He had a perfectly adequate suit set aside for him in the Special Operations and Intelligence complex at the Autobot base, but he still insisted on spending perfectly good credits on a soundproofed three-room apartment with its own set of washracks in the heart of Iacon, well away from Metroplex.

It was necessary if Blurr was to keep his true nature hidden.

Even though he swept the apartment for surveillance devices regularly and knew that there were none to be found, it still took Blurr several long minutes before he could convince himself to revert to his natural form. It wasn’t entirely safe to do this in his Cybertronian Alt; the parts just didn’t quite fit together properly and the Cybertronian form lacked the specialised dampening systems that kept excess electrical charge from building to dangerous levels.

With a sigh, Blurr submitted to the prodding of his systems and initiated the transformation sequence, reassuming the form he had been sparked with.

Aerodynamic armour took on lines that were still just as smooth but somehow sharper, more dangerous-looking. Stubby claws protruded from Blurr’s fingers, swiftly retracting back into sheathes in his fingertips. His helm crest lengthened and curved elegantly before splitting down the centre, the two halves sliding across his helm until the bases came to rest just above his temples, echoing the line of his helm. Hips spread while aft, torso and limbs took on more mass, balanced out by an increase in height so that he retained his sleek racer lines.

The final touch was a change to Blurr's optics. They became more almond-shaped than triangular, developing slitted pupils instead of the normal round optical inlet that normal Cybertronians sported.

The transformation finished not a moment too soon.

As Blurr blinked slitted optics the pressure inside his belly began moving, heading inexorably towards his interface panels. The spy turned, moaning and groping blindly for the bundle of blankets he’d brought with him from the berthroom. He latched onto them as if they were a lifeline, overcome by conflicting feelings about the impending event.

Instinct took over as his interface panel snapped open, lubricant flowing sluggishly from the swollen lips of his valve and dripping along flexing claspers. Blurr whimpered and pulled the blankets into a roughly cylindrical bundle, wrapping himself around it and sinking his claws into the fabric so it couldn’t escape his grasp.

Clear lavender-tinted fluid surged from deep within his body and dribbled down the racer’s thighs, running towards the floor. As Blurr's ovipositor started to descend through his valve it rubbed against inflamed sensor nodes that had been in a constant state of low-level arousal for the past fortnight.

It felt  _amazing_ .

Blurr gasped and rocked his hips into the bundled blanket, seeking further stimulation to coax his valve into releasing yet more lubrication to ease the slide of delicate tissues. His lubricant changed texture, taking on a gel-like consistency. This material was slightly more opaque than normal Cybertronian valve lubricant and  _incredibly_ slippery. The spy rocked and moaned, nuzzling his head forwards into the soft embrace of the blankets.

By the time the tip of his ovipositor had sunk to the entrance of his valve Blurr was gone, completely lost in the physical sensations and mindless haze of laying.

As the head of the organ slid from between plump valve lips and into the waiting embrace of quadriad claspers Blurr bit into the blankets, sinking his denta into a thick fold of fabric and whining helplessly. Surplus electrical charge was shunted into biolights to prevent localised discharges which would damage the sensitive ovipositor. Armour flared and fans roared in an attempt to vent swiftly building internal heat before it reached dangerous levels.

The chilly tiled floor of his washracks had never felt so good.

He got no time to enjoy the blissful coolness.

An urgent movement in his valve had Blurr rolling up to elbows and knees, spreading his legs to straddle the mauled blankets. He was still lubricating freely, ropes of glossy purplish jelly sliding to join the translucent liquid pooled obscenely on the floor beneath his knees, lean black thighs so covered by the substances they shone in the low light.

Sensations from within sent the racer into a full-frame convulsion before his joints locked to keep him still, cyan light pouring from the biolight strips decorating his frame to illuminate the room.

A rumbling moan from engine and vocaliser provided dissonant backdrop to an extended squelching sound as a flexible appendage slid smoothly from Blurr’s valve, passage eased by the liberal production of both types of lubrication. The tip quested forward, searching for where instinct told there would be a place to deposit its precious burden.

The head of his seeking ovipositor found lubricant-drenched blankets and plunged inside, Blurr making gratified little whimpers around his mouthful of fabric. It didn’t feel anywhere near the same as if he had been with another of his kind, but it was still delicious.

Frozen in the grip of laying all the blue mech could do was voice a strangled wail as the ovipositor struck home, stimulating the first egg to move into position at the start of his oviduct.

When the ovipositor stopped moving, the egg began its descent.

Valve callipers clenched and released in waves, guiding the ovum packet down through the blue mechs body. When it passed beyond their reach Blurr’s claspers greeted it, stimulating the pseudo-musculature of protomass within the external ovipositor.

Under the guiding strokes of callipers and claspers the whole organ began to ripple, shepherding Blurr’s clutch of eggs out of his gestation chamber and into the world.

As each egg progressed through his valve it dragged across nodes which had become almost agonizingly sensitive. Only the soft, forgiving construction of their enveloping membranes kept the process from becoming excruciatingly painful.

Instead, it was purest bliss.

Tears leaked from Blurr’s tightly clenched optics, running down his faceplates to join the mess on the floor. Cyan biolighting burned almost painfully bright, flaring in time with the movement of his callipers. Little tremors raced over his frame, the ability to think coherently having long since abandoned the spy.

Physical ecstasy combined with the strut-deep pleasure of laying; surging higher with each soft ovoid which passed though valve and ovipositor to arrive in their substitute home.

The process culminated in a screaming overload which knocked the spy senseless his final egg was delivered into the sodden blankets.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of a failed clutch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright motherslaggers, listen up.  
> If you thought this was going to be straight-up smutty funtimes: YOU WERE WRONG.  
> See those tags up there? Specifically 'Ovicide' and 'Filial Cannibalism'? If discussing this kind of thing squicks you out this is your cue to hit that little red 'X' button and GTFO while you still can.  
> Got it?  
> Good.  
> Coz it's time for shit to hit the turbine.
> 
> (Playlist for this chapter can be found [HERE](http://adhesivesandscrap.tumblr.com/post/98951835166/in-plain-sight-chapter-two-playlist))

Blurr came online alone, lying face-down on the floor of his washrack.

He was cooling rapidly, heat being sucked from his frame by the tiled floor. His limbs were stiff from being locked in one position for so long, legs sticky with partially-dried lubricant. Slender black arms were wrapped around the sodden blankets, unconsciously clutching the bundle of failed life to his spark.

Awareness returned slowly to the spy. Every part of him ached with fatigue and he wanted to do nothing more than crawl into his berth and sleep. Blurr’s ovipositor had retracted while he was offline, claspers tucked demurely into the folds of his valve. He was able to push himself slowly into a sitting position, crooning absently while still supporting the messy berth coverings against his chest.

Reality returned, the world snapping back into focus around the blue-plated mech with unforgiving clarity.

Shakily lowering the slimy bundle from where it had been hugged desperately to his spark, Blurr began what had become an achingly familiar post-clutching ritual. With careful servos he delicately peeled away layers of lubricant-soaked cloth, barely daring to vent as he slowly uncovered his clutch.

Eleven rubbery little envelopes of tough silicone coloured a deep magenta, shot through with delicate little traceries of silvery protometal and still glistening with smears of the thick jelly that had eased their passage from his body.

Blurr’s vents caught at the sight; silence reigned in the washracks for a full breem before the crooning returned intensified, taking on warbling notes as slitted azure optics traced every line lovingly, one clawed hand hovering in the air over the clutch as if not quite daring to caress.

_His eggs_ .

They were beautiful.

They were  _perfect_ .

They were dead.

His croon became the low moan of a dying thing.

Blurr had been unable to get enough leave to make the long trip back to his homeworld of Velocitron. Unable to spend this heat with the small enclave of Syngnathi who hid precariously in plain sight out in the colonies where there non-Vector Sigma mechs weren’t stigmatised as strongly as they were closer to Cybertron.

Unable to get home.

Unable to mate

Unable even to find an Incubator willing to recieve a sterile clutch.

Even though he knew it was futile Blurr still individually cleaned and inspected every single egg packet. Spontaneous autogamy wasn’t unheard of in Syngnathi; it was just very, very rare.

No matter how infinitesimally small the chance was, Blurr just  _couldn’t_ take the risk of missing one miraculously viable egg.

Thus the habit that ripped his spark apart.

Pale fingerpads ran over toughening, lifeless silicone membranes, hunting for movement. Gentle claws removed clumps of drying lubricant before it could fuse to the surface of his eggs and mar them. Each one received the same amount of time cradled next to his spark as he sang to it, trying to evoke a response while his EM field probed for an answering resonance.

If even one survived Blurr knew the short-term emergency procedures for supporting an egg outside of an Incubator’s brooding chamber. All young Syngnathi of his clan committed them to spark as soon as they were able. While he was a long way from Velocitron, he would still have had time to call his own creators or a sibling to come and collect the precious life before it extinguished.

As for the long-term procedure; there was none.

Millennia of careful research by their scientists had ended in the unhappy conclusion that it was simply impossible for a Syngnathi embryo to remain viable outside of an Incubator’s brooding chamber.

Time slipped past in a haze of misery and fading hope. By the time Blurr finished inspecting the final egg and laid it carefully back with its brethren he was chilled to the core, frozen by grief and the draining physical effort of laying his clutch.

If this had been a proper laying his eggs would be safe inside the brooding chamber of an Incubator, with Blurr snuggled up warm against a strong, sturdily armoured chassis.

Instead the eggs lay dull and lifeless in pile of sticky sheets on the floor of a washrack, the exhausted Ovaria struggling to remain online long enough to do what must be done.

Blurr gathered the viscid bundle lovingly in shaky arms, shuffling across the washrack floor on his knees. He left the evidence of failure on the floor just outside the washrack door before dialling for the hottest solvent spray he could handle.

Eyes never leaving his clutch, Blurr backed under the torrent of steaming solvent and let it run over his trembling frame. Even if he’d been able to mate not all of his eggs would have been sparked with life. Those that didn’t contain life would have broken down within the gestation chamber to provide additional material for their ensparked siblings.

It didn’t matter to the anguished blue mech who knelt limply as scalding solvent cleaned partially-dried lubricant slime from his frame.

This clutch had been doomed from the moment his heat began, so far away from home and hope.

The solvent shut off long before Blurr felt ready to face the necessity of disposing of his clutch. Not bothering with the driers, he crawled over to lean against the doorframe.

There was an icy hollow inside him that the heat of the solvent hadn’t been able to thaw. 

Producing eggs and laying them depleted an Ovaria Syngnathi; they needed to replenish themselves as soon as possible after laying a clutch or face physical and psychological repercussions.

If an Ovaria found themselves in the situation Blurr was in now, it was considered completely acceptable to ingest the failed clutch in order to facilitate recovery.

It was just another reason Cybertronians had to hate and fear his kind.

Every course of action was risky. If Blurr didn’t ingest his eggs he would have to dispose of them another way, needlessly creating an opportunity for his nature to be discovered. The kinds of supplements he would then need to purchase would also draw considerable attention, whereas Acetic Acid was a common solvent that nobody shuttered an optic at.

The same way nobody looked twice at a racer-type buying Jet quality Highgrade.

Since his last heat cycle, Blurr had laid in enough Highgrade to so that even his fast speedster systems would allow him to get so thoroughly overcharged he wouldn’t have to think. Hopefully he had enough to outlast during the agonizing wait for his brooding protocols to shut down.

That was also something that ingesting his clutch would help with.

It was small mercies like this that allowed his kind to survive.

Gentle claws traced the clean curve of one egg, lifeless silicone darkened to a mercury-shot maroon now that the warmth of his spark had left it. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t deserve to feel better, not after failing these precious things.

He had no choice.

It was imperative that Blurr’s true nature stay a secret. If he was to be discovered here in the heart of Iacon there would be repercussions reaching all the way back to Velocitron.

Keening low in his throat, Blurr gathered his clutch to his chest with one arm, grasping the doorframe with the other to pull himself unsteadily to his pedes.

Reluctantly, Blurr stumbled towards the fuel preparation area.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEADCANON TIME, HELL YEAH!  
> If an Ovaria Syngnath is unable to find a co-operative Incubator when the time comes for them to lay their eggs, the best way to dispose of the eggs is to ingest them. This can be done by straight-up eating them, or dissolving them in Acetic Acid (Vinegar) to create a sharp, bitter-tasting beverage with roughly the same consistency of a really thick smoothie.  
> Consuming the eggs replaces a large amount of the metals and elements drawn from the Ovaria's frame for their creation, and assists in speeding the shutdown of brooding protocols.  
> If the Ovaria has been able to find an Incubator willing to accept the clutch, the unsparked eggs will be broken down in the Incubator's gestation chamber. Some of the materials from this will go into strengthening the living eggs, the rest will be transferred back to the Ovaria via the Incubator's Adeagus. If the entire clutch was unfertilised, all eggs are broken down for transfer back to the Ovaria.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glitchmouse? Meet Cybercat.  
> Run little Glitchmouse. Run while you can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fucking sick of this chapter. Get it out of my sight.

Shockwave was wearing the form of Longarm Prime, seated in said Prime’s office.

The infiltrator had recently inherited the post of Head of Intelligence and Special Operations from the femme 'Mystère'. Shockwave had only needed to manipulate events in very tiny ways to ensure that  _Longarm_ was the one promoted and not another, more experienced candidate.

It was deliciously ironic that the Autobots had saved Shockwave a great deal of the time and energy originally intended for this stage of operations.

He would have to direct it into the next phase of their destruction as a little thank-you present.

For now, Shockwave was preparing to meet an Agent who'd been on vacation when the previous Head of Intelligence stepped down. This particular Agent’s file piqued Shockwave’s interest upon first reading. Further perusal of the dossier only served to fuel the Decepticon’s curiosity.

It was extremely rare for an Off-worlder to climb this high in the Cybertronian Intelligence Agency,  _especially_ in notoriously insular Iacon. If this little Racer-frame was anywhere near good as Shockwave’s calculations suggested, he would be forced to have the Off-worlder eliminated sooner rather than later.

Shockwave accessed the Agent’s file again, folding the arms of his disguise in a politely receptive arrangement atop his desk while he read. Mystère had left extensive notes on the handling of her assets, especially this odd little mech.

The Agent, designation ‘Blurr’, kept apartments outside Metroplex. His assigned suite in the Intelligence headquarters being used only for post-mission recuperation. An attached audio file contained a conversation with Metroplex revealing that the Agent professed discomfort with the idea of using another mechanism’s body as a home, despite it being the Citiformer’s function. It had taken some time, but Blurr and the Metrotitan had finally reached an understanding. Metroplex reported feeling tolerant bemusement towards the Racer-frame and held no grudge.

What would apparently bear watching was this Off-worlder’s acute homesickness. Agent Blurr took irregular leave, usually spending it in Iacon. Trips back to his homeworld of Velocitron were infrequent in the extreme.

If Blurr remained in Iacon, his file noted that the Racer-frame seemingly tried to deal with his homesickness by racing and interfacing with a wide variety of mechs; the behaviour invariably culminating with several days locked in his apartment, drinking himself insensate on extremely strong Highgrade.

While these binges did appear to offer a cathartic effect, the Agent was to be handled carefully upon return to duty. Apparently he was both physically and emotionally delicate for several decaorns afterwards.

Longarm’s faceplates shifted into an enigmatic smile. If the need arose, it appeared that Shockwave would have many options available for eliminating this mech .

Accidents did happen, after all.

Accidents would be  _quite_ simple to organize for this potential problem.

The next few lines were somewhat . . . less than pleasing. The last mechanism to hold Longarm Prim’s position believed Agent Blurr to be too isolated in Iacon. In typical Autobot fashion, Mystère had voluntarily acted as some kind of mentor-cum-confidant; socialising with the Velocitronian mech outside of the workplace and willingly listening to his babble. The Agent apparently suffered a timing glitch not uncommon amongst racers, especially those of Velocitronian origin. An eyes-only addition suggested that Longarm and this Agent would get along well, as Blurr’s unusual verbosity would counteract Longarm’s notoriously dismal ability to engage in small-talk.

Shockwave internally rolled his optic at that.

Social interaction beyond what was necessary to maintain his cover was an intolerable waste of energy.

Nevertheless, Shockwave’s predecessor had been concerned about this Agent; therefore Longarm had to appear to be as well. He would simply discourage any contact beyond the bare minimum required to take care of the situation.

A comm ping from Cliffjumper notified Shockwave of the Velocitronain Agent’s arrival bare moments before a melodious entry request chime sounded throughout Longarm’s office. With that warning Shockwave slid fully into character with an ease born of having lived entire lifetimes inhabiting one persona or another.

“Come in.” Shockwave used his own voice, tempered by Longarm’s diffident enunciation.

A streamlined blue mech entered, looking exactly like the holographs in Agent Blurr’s files. The 'bot moved with a refreshingly clean economy of motion, as if doing so would somehow keep the boundless energy of a Velocitron-bred racing frame under control.

Shockwave had honestly expected this ‘bot to be somewhat less . . .  _intriguing_  in person. The Deception easily suppressed his frame’s involuntary signals of interest. Being able to see that lightly-armoured frame in motion on a regular basis really  _should_ have been mentioned as a perk of this position.

Agent Blurr moved to stand precisely three paces from Longarm’s desk, standing at attention with a crisp salute. The wash of air displaced by his movements carried no trace of Highgrade fumes to Soundwave’s chemoreceptors; only the distinct odour of fresh wax and a lingering hint of something else, filtrates too faint to be categorised.

“Agent Blurr reporting for duty, Sir!” The Agent said, taking obvious care to speak at a normal pace.

“Agent Blurr, it is good to finally meet you.” The Longarm persona greeted Blurr while Shockwave studied the racer carefully.

The dossier had indeed been correct; there was a hint of some psychological delicacy to the Racer-frame. No sign of it showed in the regular, even biolights or an EM field held in a professionally neutral manner; this corresponded with Blurr’s record of being a highly-trained Intelligence Agent.

Still, indications of his state  _were_ there if you knew what to look for.

Something about the expression in Blurr’s optics and the way flexible black armour fit about his abdomen and limbs that appeared slightly. . .  _off_ to Shockwave’s experienced optic. Had the Agent forgotten to fuel properly during his latest Highgrade and random fragging bender?

Whatever was wrong with this mech, it didn’t read to Shockwave as homesickness.

“I hope it does not come as too great a shock to find me here instead of Mystère,” Shockwave added, continuing his covert scrutiny.

If Blurr was half as good as he was supposed to be, the Agent would be doing the same in return. Analysing the new head of his division, the mechanism who now held his reigns as an Autobot Intelligence Agent. The mech in charge of delivering work, praise and punishment.

“I must confess that I myself am surprised to be entrusted with this level of responsibility so early in my career.” A self-deprecating smile on Longarm’s lips had the nature of Shockwave’s persona firmly established in the blue bot’s processor. “I  _do_ hope that you are able to endure my lack of experience.”

“I-it’s-not-a-h-huge shock, Longarm Prime, Sir.” Caught off-guard by Shockwave’s ‘admission’, the Agent stuttered, slipping into his normal mode of speech before he caught himself and slowed again.

“Mystère hinted that she-might-be-m-moving elsewhere while I was on leave.” Blurr’s vocaliser speed fluctuated wildly, amusing Shockwave while Longarm felt pity. “The Magnus would not-appoint-someone-to-the-post-who-was-not-capable-of-handling-it, Sir. If-I-may-be-so-bold, I-would-say-that-you-are-more-capable-of-handling-it-than-you-think.”

The Racer flushed, snapping his mouth shut after rattling through the little pep-talk in barely a third of the time it would have taken a normal mech. Shockwave couldn’t tell if Blurr was embarrassed because of what he said or how  _fast_ he’d said it. The Longarm persona decided it would be wise to say something before the notoriously high-strung Agent worked himself into a tizzy.

“I  _am_ glad to know that Mystère didn’t leave you completely uninformed, Agent Blurr.” A carefully formulated smile -warm with a hint of worry- crossed Longarm’s faceplate. “In fact she seemed quite concerned about you. I understand that she was a confidant for you here in Iacon.”

The Longarm persona hesitated briefly, drawing on Shockwave’s superior manipulation skills to play the Agent properly.

“This  _is_ presumptuous of me and I do apologise if the offer is unwelcome, but I have no objections to doing so as well, if you find yourself in need someone to talk to.” Round blue optics guilelessly met triangular cyan ones, gauging the response.

Well,  _that_ seemed surprise the little Racer. Blurr’s optics widened and the subtle biolight accents in his armour pulsed briefly before resuming a smooth, even glow. The Agent opened and closed his mouth a few times, seemingly unable to find anything to say.

Sadistically, Shockwave allowed the silence to drag on. His own dark amusement was kept completely hidden as the Decepticon allowed Longarm’s face to flush slightly, the ineffectually blunt fingers to fidget with each other on the desktop. Awkwardness grew exponentially with each passing klick.

“Ah, I see that I  _have_ overstepped my bounds.” The newly-made Prime broke the stalemate, “My apologies, Agent Blurr.”  Shockwave took care to display the amount of embarrassment appropriate for a reclusive mech making clumsy social advances.

“No! No-not-at-all, Longarm Prime, Sir!” Blurr’s physical reaction was annoyingly unreadable, but he sounded horrified enough to gratify Shockwave. “I-It just n-never occurred to me to think that Mystère was-so-concerned-about-me-th-that you would offer to listen, too. It was just silly things about missing home. Nothing you should waste your time on, Sir.”

Apparently horrified at having let his vocaliser run away on him  _again_ , the blue-plated Agent squirmed with obvious discomfort. The sight sent an unexpected jolt through Shockwave.

There was a certain quality to the movement which touched desires buried deep within the Deception’s spark, desires controlled with all his considerable willpower lest he give himself away. These desires were absolutely forbidden in Cybertronian society; he was only able to indulge in them rarely.

Shockwave was oh,  _so_ tempted to indulge himself with the lithe little racer-frame before him.

At that thought, a plan blossomed within the Decepticon Agent’s processors, lending a slight predatory undercurrent to the reassuring smile Longarm bestowed upon the fretting Blurr. Toying with this little Autobot would be an excellent way for Shockwave to enliven an incredibly  _tedious_ part of his assignment. Blurr’s social isolation and known instability would make it that much easier to dispose of him without suspicion, should the need arise.

Yes, this would do nicely.

It was time to make the first move.

Keeping Longarm’s expression and posture decorous, Shockwave stood and moved around the desk to place large hands carefully on Blurr’s smooth pauldrons. As he was used to letting the Longarm profile take over when piloting this frame, Shockwave found himself misjudging distances, accidentally skimming his fingertips familiarly over the aerodynamic blue metal.

Determined to experience this in full and not through the filter of Longarm, Shockwave covered it by patting the Autobot’s shoulders reassuringly. Up close the scent of recent waxing was stronger, but the Decepticon could still pick up that other chemical signature. Frustratingly, it was  _still_ too faint to identify when mixed up with the stronger compounds of the Agent’s preferred brand of wax.

Making eye contact with the startled mech, Shockwave allowed his EM field to reach out briefly, expressing a carefully manufactured concern. The Agent’s EM field felt abnormally pleasant against his own. The Decepticon could feel it flexing as Blurr almost followed the retreat of ‘Longarms’ field before the Racer-frame caught himself and pulled it tight to his plating.

“You  _know_ the Intelligence Service is obligated to care for our ‘Bots, Agent Blurr.” Shockwave said, Longarm’s minimal biolighting flaring as his EM field nudged gently out again, filled with sincerity. “If our Agents aren’t in top condition, the Service as a whole suffers. It is my  _duty_ as your superior to guarantee your wellbeing, which  _includes_ providing an open audio when you are troubled.”

The Autobot’s optics were the same cyan colour as his biolighting; both were bright and appeared startled by Longarm’s actions. He stood frozen beneath Longarm’s broad hands like a glitchmouse at the mercy of a turbofox. The sight was enough to prompt Shockwave to loosen control over his form just enough to be able to drink in the delicious sight with his own optic.

“I. . .Understand, Sir.” For any other mech the response would have been a normal speed; coming from Blurr it was almost painfully slow.

“Excellent.” Soundwave let his assumed face beam with approval, giving a brief squeeze to blue armour before releasing the stunned Agent’s shoulders.

Sharp sensors trained on Blurr detected a light tremor through his limbs as Shockwave let the Longarm persona move his frame back to sit at the desk, safely away from the twin distractions of Blurr’s strange odour and EM field.

“Now we have that matter settled, I have some assignments to discuss with you,” Shockwave moved seamlessly back into properly professional mannerisms. “In order to ease you back out of ‘Holiday Mode’ I believe it would be best to start with this.”

The Decepticon Agent pulled an encrypted datapad from a drawer, only fumbling with the drawer handle a little. All those transform-ups in bootcamp really  _should_ have helped him better adapt to this form. Shockwave decrypted the pad and pulled up the details of the relevant assignment, inspecting it briefly before holding it out across the desk.

While his attention seemed to be completely focused on what his hands were doing, in reality the Decepticon was studying every twitch the Racer-frame made. Blurr watched Longarm with curiosity in those shadowed cyan optics, so lost in his own thoughts that Shockwave had to prompt the Agent to take the datapad.

_Excellent_ , Shockwave thought with satisfaction.

_This will be an interesting little diversion, indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mystère is an OC I created for Spiderwebs who has basically become my go-to whenever I run into a 'Shit we need an Ops/Intel bot here' situation. She's an EXTREMELY meddlesome chunk of scrap.
> 
> Due to their differing physiologies, Syngnath smell slightly different to normal Cybertronian mechs. It is generally not enough to be noticed as being significantly different to any other bot's normal frame odour. (Preferred wax/solvent/paint can affect this, among other things)  
> Ovaria in heat produce a chemical signature that announces their reproductive status to nearby Syngnathi. (Yay pheromones!) To normal Cybertronians it's just a weird strong smell, possibly a washrack solvent prank. Other Ovaria are unaffected unless they are close to the onset of their own cycle in which case their own heat will be triggered. Incubators find the scent of an Ovaria in heat to be extremely arousing. They will track down the source of the smell and try to persuade the receptive Ovaria to mate. The type of persuasion varies from clan to clan, but usually contains a gift of fuel and demonstrations of physical fitness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking heads and sexual tension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my best editing job, but screw it. Throwing it up anyway before I loose momentum.  
> Went through and fixed the linebreaks, since Word was cocking it up and I didn't notice

Blurr felt like he was about to twitch out of his plating from sheer nerves.

He was seated at a table in one of the Autobot Intelligence Agency common rooms, fiddling with a cube of sweetened midgrade and waiting for Longarm Prime to arrive.

This was the first time Blurr was meeting with his new Boss outside of a work situation and he had no idea what to expect. He’d easily completed his first mission for the new Prime and gotten the impression that Longarm had been impressed with his work during the post-mission debriefing.

Somehow, despite having made that all-important good first impression and having a clean bill of health from Medical, the Agent was still absolutely _positive_ he was going to purge his tanks. It was completely intolerable. The situation was all backwards; the Agent had no idea which social rules he should follow. Longarm Prime was his hierarchical superior but Blurr had been in the Intelligence service _longer_ than the new Prime.

How could Mystère do this to him?! What was Blurr supposed to _do?_

The Racer-frame tried to cycle his vents slowly.

This was _so_ fragged up.

Blurr’s relationship with his previous Boss had been definitely that of Mentor and Protégé. Sipping the sweetened Energon, Blurr sorted through his memories for something _anything_ that might tell him how best to act now.

His training certainly hadn’t covered this slag.

Mystère had taken the Velocitronian under her metaphorical wing from the first day he’d entered the Iaconan Intelligence Service complex. From both his records and her own observations the Femme had been quite aware that Blurr would make made little or no attempt to engage any of the mecha he could logically befriend. The Psych team had probably been worried Blurr would become completely unhinged without someone to talk to.

Yeah, ok, so he _did_ need someone to talk to every now and then. So what?

Or sometimes someone to talk _at_ , if Myst felt like letting him ramble on about random slag. But why oh _why_ hadn’t she just arranged for him to see one of the Psych team now? Why had she gone and done this? It was so awkward!

The Racer-frame was completely certain that the friendship he’d forged with Mystère was unlikely to happen twice. As the vorns wore on it had actually _hurt_ to not tell his old Boss precisely _why_ he occasionally took time off work to engage in what looked like wild benders of fragging strangers and drowning himself in Highgrade.

There was absolutely no way he’d ever become _that_ close to this new Prime.

Oddly enough, the motivation for his binges was the one thing Myst had never pushed for. Pondering this revelation, Blurr scowled at his black-and-white servos where they fidgeted with his mostly-full cube. She’d probably assumed that Blurr would tell her himself once he trusted her enough.

She certainly never got the chance to discover it herself during training.

The Intelligence and Special Operations outpost on Velocitron had taken care of that little problem quite neatly. All his Interrogation-resistance education had been conducted on his Homeworld, long before he ever set pede on Cybertron.

A brush of displaced air and the vague sense of someone approaching the table registered vaguely in Blurr’s distracted processors. The presence was calm and non-threatening, subconsciously familiar in a way that didn’t draw the blue-plated mech from his introspection as he waited for Longarm.

“Why the long face, Agent Blurr?” A vaguely familiar voice asked lightly.

“ _My-frame-was-built-that-way_.” Blurr snarked with reflexive hostility before he looked up to see who’d spoken.

Longarm Prime stood beside the table, cycling his optics bemusedly at the blue-plated racer. The Craneformer had a cube of Energon in one hand and a small plate of mixed Iaconan and Velocitronian Energon snacks in the other, the subtle luminescence of the fuel competing with the ambience of the biolights that ran in chevrons down his extendable limbs.

Blurr’s processor stalled, optics widening in horror as he realised that he’d just snapped at his attractive new boss in a thoroughly unprofessional manner. A small smile quirked the corner of Longarm’s wide mouth as if he could read Blurr’s thoughts.

Oh _slag_.

For the first time in his adult life, Blurr couldn’t find his vocaliser. His silent gasping seemed to amuse Longarm, who placed the snack tray in the middle of the table and seated himself on the chair opposite Blurr with a single smooth movement that belied his bulky form.

“Upon reflection, I see that my choice of humour was rather poor.” Longarm made a rueful face, dipping his helm at the shocked blue racer. “I _do_ apologise, Agent Blurr. However I fear that if you had continued to glare at your energon like that it may have exploded and taken out half of this floor. The Intelligence Agency is rather short on space as it is, so I tried to avert catastrophe with levity.”

Longarm Prime was joking. With _him_. With the hyperactive Off-Worlder. Antisocial Blurr. Longarm Prime was making terrible, cheesy jokes in a professionally calculated attempt to cheer him up.

Blurr was vaguely aware of his mouth dropping open as his processor and spark spun off in opposite directions.

Oh, he was _so_ slagged.

“I-I’m-sorry-Sir-I-didn’t-mean-t-to-to.” Blurr started to babble, shutting his mouth with a snap when Longarm flicked thick fingers at him.

“I do understand, Agent Blurr. Teasing amongst our fellow Autobots _does_ tend to focus on the most obvious frame differences. I apologise for unintentionally bringing up bad memories.” Longarm explained as Blurr quickly raised his cube in an attempt to hide the blush burning beneath his faceplates. “Your . . . _unique_ design would have led to some rather predictable teasing. Bullies are hardly creative, after all.”

The Agent’s expression was dark when he emerged from behind his energon, meeting the empathetic blue optics of his new Boss.

“No, they’re not.” He agreed sombrely.

Longarm’s dense, soothing EM field nudged Blurr’s briefly, communicating acknowledgement/acceptance and polite curiosity of the sort that didn’t have to be responded to before the grey mech tactfully changing topics. Blurr successfully fought down the urge to lean into that field. That brief contact was enticing in a way that he didn’t want to examine too closely. When Longam nudged the tray of Energon snacks towards Blurr, the Racer-frame cautiously took one of his favourite local ones to distract himself with.

“I must admit, I’m quite surprised that Mystère put us in this situation,” The Prime said. “Unfortunately, being so new to the position I am rather busy and will be unable to meet with you as often as she did.”

Blurr wasn’t sure if he found that revelation reassuring or disappointing. Nibbling carefully at the almost sickly-sweet firm gel he’d chosen, Blurr carefully isolated a little line of thought that was admiring Longarm’s broad, treaded shoulder-pieces and making appreciative noises about the girth of grey sturdy thoracic armour.

Those observations and any speculations attached to them were resolutely deleted.

Oh yes; he would _definitely_ be spending his next heat at home.

Belatedly realising that Longarm had finished talking and was waiting for some sort of reply, Blurr swallowed his mouthful hurriedly. Ugh, he could feel the unchewed lump pressing against his intake the whole way down. It felt like it was probably making an unsightly bulge against the smooth black protoform of his neck.

The overhead lights caught oddly on the round, red lens of some sort of sensor array centred in Longarm’s forehealm. Another inappropriate thought intruded on the Agent’s awareness, shoving the worries about his own appearance neatly aside.

**[** Thought|Query **:** What _does_ that red glass taste like? **/** DELETE DELETE **DELETE]**

“That-is-alright-Sir.” The blue-plated mech was extremely happy that –just like his old Superior- Longarm was perfectly capable of understanding his usual rate of speech and had insisted he speak at his normal pace whenever they interacted. “It-is-a-rather-awkward-situation. I-have-the-greater-seniority-and-yet-you-are-my-superior-and-are-being-asked-to-give-up-your-time-to-do-something-that-could-just-as-easily-be-done-and- _should_ -be-done-by-the-counselors-and-psychiatrists-who-are- _hired_ -to-deal-with-us-Agents. I-really-appreciate-you-doing-this. I-don’t-want-you-to-think-I’m-not-grateful-because-I- _am_ -it’s-just well-it’s-just-weird.”

Blurr shrugged helplessly, grabbing something at random from the tray and downing the rest of his midgrade in one smooth swallow. Longarm smiled serenely, effortlessly accepting the truth of the statement and dismissing it just as easily.

“As the situation stands we could technically be considered equals outside of the workplace. This will only be as awkward as we allow it to become, Agent Blurr.” Longarm said while Blurr slurped at his Energon. “Please remember what I said the first time we met; it is my responsibility as your Superior Officer to ensure that you are properly supported. While it _is_ duty, I also find myself looking forward to getting to know you better.”

Blurr lowered his empty cube back to the table with a _thunk_ , optics wide as his processor stuck on the sentence, looping it in his immediate cache until he fumbled to erase it. His spark spun wildly in his chest, wanting something the Agent didn’t want to admit to himself. Oh he was so _slagged_. Why did this have to happen? He couldn’t, _shouldn’t_ be this attracted to Longarm. This was glitched; abnormal. A result of too many cycles spent too far from other Syngnathi.

There was no way around it; Blurr NEEDED to spend his next heat cycle at home.

This . . . this was _intolerable_.

“Like yourself, I have also encountered some difficulty in my attempts to socialise with our Autobot and Elite Guard comrades,” The Prime seemed blithely unaware of just how his previous sentence had affected his subordinate. “While I do not face the specific difficulties that you do yourself; I fear I was promoted too fast to learn how to overcome my own . . . awkwardness in social situations.”

The blue-plated mech’s spark contracted with empathy when he saw the way Longarm's biolights dulled. The speed which made Blurr such an asset to the Intelligence Service was complicated by a common timing glitch which made it extremely difficult for Blurr to match the pace of the rest of the universe. Combined with the parochial attitudes towards Off-world Cybertronians it meant that Blurr had basically given up on forming even the bare minimum of acquaintances his double nature allowed.

Blurr knew the loneliness Longarm hinted at _far_ too well.

“I-believe-that-if-you-just-gave-mechs-some-time-Sir-they-will-warm-up-to-you,” Blurr said, attempting to reassure Longarm even though their not-relationship was supposed to function the opposite way. “Everybot-is-probably-intimidated-by-how-good-you-are-at-what-you-do-and-probably-also-think-that-you-are-a-workaholic-who-is-not-interested-in-socialising. Once-they-get-used-to-you-they-will-relax-around-you-and-socialise-more.”

There was an odd gleam in Longarm’s eyes, the lights doing strange things to his red forehelm sensor as the Prime tilted his head to contemplate Blurr who in turn fought down the urge to fidget under the intense scrutiny. He was an _Elite Guard Intelligence Agent_ , for Primus’ sake! He did _not_ squirm in embarrassment because he’d been kind to his Superior Officer!

Squashing the desire to duck his helm like a shy sparkling, Blurr grabbed another Energon candy at random; hand involuntarily drawn to one containing several minerals his post-heat systems were craving.

“Thank you, Agent Blurr. I hope that time proves you correct” Longarm’s voice was softer than magnesium ash, matching his EM field when it contacted Blurr’s to convey a heartfelt gratitude that vocalisers and biolights just couldn’t express. “It is truly to their own detriment that others listen to how much you say instead of _what_ you say, Agent Blurr. You really are one of the best the Elite Guard has to offer, and for once I find myself glad that Mystère decided to meddle in the lives of others.”

Blurr groaned and rolled his optics in agreement with the dryly amused way Longarm delivered that last sentence; eagerly latching on to the change in subject to get the conversation away from the increasingly problematic and dangerous directions it was heading in.

“Longarm-Sir-I-do-not-wish-to-sound-like-I-am-badmouthing-a-Superior-but-Mystère-likes-to-meddle-even-more-than-Seekers-like-to-fly.” Blurr’s mouthplates twisted in a wry smile as fond –and not so fond- memories tumbled through his processors. “In-my-experience-it-makes-life-a-lot-easier-to-simply-go-along-with-whatever-that-femme-has-planned-for-you. Her-second-options-are-never-as-comfortable-and-always-make-you-wish-that-you-had-gone-with-the-first-plan-she-had-for-your-functioning.”

“What you are saying is that we would be best to comply with the directives of my antecedent, or risk uncomfortable consequences?” Longarm’s smile was genial on the surface, but there was something a little ominous in the way his optics went distant, as if planning dire revenge should Mystère attempt to get even with him.

“Yes-precisely-Sir.” Blurr suppressed the desire to let his armour clamp down to protect delicate protoform, smiling back at Longarm with a long-suffering sigh.

“In that case, Agent Blurr; would you care to tell me of your plans for your between-mission rest?” Longarm reached for the snack tray at the same time as Blurr, causing a brief moment of embarrassment on the part of the Racer-frame as Longarm overshot his target and their fingers brushed. “You carried out the first mission after your holiday flawlessly, and Medical are happy to release you from Recovery a few days earlier than normal.”

Snack confusion sorted, Blurr found himself in possession of the most disgustingly sweet Energon lolly Iacon boasted. Quickly stuffing it in his mouth, the Racer hummed happily around the mouthful of candy, optics dimming and biolights brightening as he crunched through the shell to release the centre, attention entirely on the sensations within his oral cavity.

“I-received-a-comm-from-a-friend-from-home. I-have-not-seen-her-since-we-were-sparklings.” Blurr valiantly tried to ignore the increased brightness from Longarm’s biolighting and how his expression hardened ever so slightly at the inference that the friend was a Femme. “I’m-going-to-meet-Blackbird-at-the-spaceport-tomorrow. It-is-going-to-be-good-to-see-someone-from-home-again.”

Ice flickered through Longarm’s optics as the Craneformer processed the harmonics of Blackbird’s designation and realised that not only was the friend a femme, she was also a Seeker. As a frameclass, Seekers were somewhat . . . notorious. Blurr firmly ignored the little dance his spark was doing at the sight, turning innocent optics on his superior officer. His contact-deprived Syngnathi processor was probably just imagining things.

“I-haven’t-had-much-time-to-explore-the-tourist-attractions-of-Iacon-in-between-missions,Sir. Or-much-reason-to-do-so-my-myself. I-tend-to-spend-most-of-my-free-time-at-the-racetracks-when-I’m-not-on-duty.” The blue-plated mech decided to take a risk. Roll the metaphorical dice, so to speak.

“Is-there-anywhere-that-you-would-recommend-that-I-show-Blackbird? Flightframes-don’t-like-sitting-around-watching-Grounders-race,after-all.” Cyan optics refocused guilelessly, drinking in the nuances of Longarm’s reaction.

“I am sorry Agent Blurr.” Longarm’s voice held an echo of the same chill that had been in his optics earlier. “I haven’t had much time myself to peruse the tourist attractions of the city, so I am about as knowledgeable as you are yourself when it comes to things that would be of interest to an outsider.”

“Oh-well-it-doesn’t-matter.” Blurr feigned some truly excellent indifference, helped by his spark’s reaction that was NOT happiness that his attractive boss seemed dismayed at the prospect of Blurr spending his free days with a _Seeker_ and all that this implied. “Mystère-always-talked-about-going-to-see-some-of-the-sights-of-Iacon-during-these-meetings-but-she-was-always-so-busy-we-never-got-the-chance. Perhaps-ifI’mnotbeingtooforwardSir,-we-could-do-that-when-you-are-more-settled-into-the-position-and-people-are-used-to-how-you-run-things. It-would-be-nice-to-see-more-of-Iacon-Sir-and-I-feel-silly-going-places-by-myself.”

In that outpouring of words Blurr somehow managed to leave out that going to tourist attractions by himself was an exercise in massive frustration and irritated customer service mechanisms. Many Iaconites could barely deal with the accents and dialects from other parts of Cybertron itself, let alone Velocitronain Cant delivered at Blurr’s accustomed rate of speech.

The Agent’s frame and field language were deliberately projecting nonchalance, as if this was simply a throwaway suggestion to get them both out of the office to encounter something new before the sameness of their surroundings became irksome.

As usual, Blurr was more successful at controlling his frame and EM field than he was with lying to himself.

“That is an excellent suggestion, Agent Blurr.” Longarm said warmly, “I can see why Mystère thought so highly of you.”

Blurr beamed. He knew that his previous Boss had been fond of him, but it was always something special to hear it confirmed by a third party.

“Unfortunately, it seems that our time today is at an end and I must leave you to your recreations.” The Prime said rather abruptly, EM field extending to brush against Blurr’s with apology and polite friendliness. “I do hope you enjoy the extra time to relax. I shall see you at the mission briefing next Decaorn.”

“Thankyou-Sir-I-will.” Blurr’s vocaliser ran away on him in a way that was becoming distressingly familiar. “IhopeyouhaveanenjoyableDecaornaswell Sir.”

Longarm’s teal biolights pulsed in a friendly acknowledgement of Blurr’s garbled well-wishings. As the Prime took his leave Blurr forced his optics down to the empty tray and Energon cubes on the table, flatly refusing to allow his optics to linger on his Boss’ broad, strong back as he moved towards the exit.

Yeah, he was slagged.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blurr gets unexpected time off which he uses to get away from Headquarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has taken a while. My bad, Prompt Fills got in the way.  
> At least you got some smut out of the delay :p  
> Pardon the editing, it's been a while.

# Chapter Five

The Interplanetary Arrivals terminal of the Iacon Spaceport was a bustling, cacophonous nightmare that grated on Blurr’s mission-sensitive sensors. He twitched and fidgeted, earning odd looks from other mecha. The urge to hide in the shadows was strong, but not overpowering enough that he would be acting on it. If that had been the case Medical wouldn’t have cleared him to leave the Intelligence Services complex, let alone Autobot Headquarters.

Tapping his toepiece restlessly the Agent scanned the crowd, automatically assessing everyone around him for potential threats and desperately wishing he was at the racetrack instead of the Spaceport. The monotone scream of atmosphere blasting past his audials was infinitely preferable to the processor-rustingly _slow_ babble of the mechs swirling around him.

“BLURR!” Someone screeched his name mere microseconds before pouncing on the racer-frame from behind, engulfing him in a familiar EM Field and an unfamiliar pair of arms.

The familiarity of the shriek –and the fact that he’d been halfway expecting it- were the only things that kept the tense Agent from spinning in the loose embrace to gut his assailant. With a sigh of resignation Blurr turned into the hug, wrapping his arms around the larger frame of his attacker for a brief squeeze before attempting to free himself. Only _this_ person could manage to sneak up on him in the middle of a crowded spaceport. Blurr knew how she did it, but it still worked more often than he liked.

“Blackbird, _how_ _many_ _times_ have-I-asked-you-not-to-do-that?” Blurr asked, to exasperated for a proper greeting. “I-could-have- _hurt_ -you.”

“But you haven’t yet!” The irrepressible Seeker twinkled back, earning a frustrated huff.

“Brainless-overconfident- _Seeker_.” Blurr snapped, engine growling over the background noise.

“Prickly, antisocial _Racer_.” Blackbird shot back, extending her wingpanels aggressively.

A space opened around in the crowd around the pair of Velocitronian mechs as they continued to trade insults. Enforcers kept a close watch in case the mud-slinging in case the confrontation turned violent; the Elite Guard insignia visible on Blurr’s chassis was the only thing that kept them from acting.

“Vacuum-Processor.”

“Dust muncher”

“I’ve-missed-you.”

“Missed you too.”

Security mecha relaxed as the ‘fight’ ended abruptly, the crowd continued to give the pair a wide berth as Blurr as they hugged again. Blurr’s face pressed against reinforced thoracic armour as the femme lowered her forehelm, resting it briefly on the top of Blurr’s helm. It was _good_ to see someone from home, to hear the familiar tonalities and harmonics of a Velocitronian vocaliser again. Part of Blurr wished that he could hide in the uncomplicated moment forever.

“Come-on-let’s-go-get-some-energon-and-you-can-catch-me-up-on-all-the-gossip-from-home-that-I’ve-missed.” Blurr said, finally realising that they were drawing a fair bit of attention, jealous or admiring looks from mech and femme alike. He’d been so caught up in the verbal sparring match that he’d not noticed earlier. Turns out Medical _did_ know what they were doing, after all. “You’re-making-all-the-locals-jealous.”

Drawing this much notice anywhere other than on a racetrack made Blurr very nervous. Agents that liked attracting attention were the kind of Agents who didn’t last very long.

Sighing dramatically, Blackbird picked up the small case she’d dropped to molest him and followed behind Blurr as he led his visitor towards the exit. The navy-and-white Seeker femme towered head and shoulders above the light blue mech despite being of average height for her frametype. She looked around cheerfully, dismissing the continued glances as a Seeker’s due tribute from the unfortunate wingless mechs filling the Spaceport.

“I-was-surprised-to-hear-from-you,” Blurr tried to distract himself from fussing about the onlookers with some smalltalk. “I-had-no-idea-you-were-near-Cybertron.”

 “Oh you know what it’s like with us artistic types,” Blackbird laughed self-deprecatingly, “We’re all over the place; chasing the muse wherever it goes. I felt like photographing some of the sights on Cybertron and figured I’d bribe you with gossip home for some free accommodation while I’m in Iacon.”

_So_ that’s _her cover this time._

Once they out in the relatively open air Blurr folded down into his altmode with a sigh of relief. Once he was firmly settled on his wheels, Blurr databurst the address of his apartment to the visiting Seeker, including an updated version of the Iaconan air traffic code and the location of Flightframe landing zones closest to his building. Densely populated cities like Iacon had strict rules for both land and air traffic that weren’t necessary in the colonies. They were annoying but necessary.

::That’s-where-I’m-staying-now:: Blurr said over short-range comm, unable to vocalise while in his altmode. He popping a door open and waved it lazily. ::I’ll-take-your-gear-and-meet-you-there. The-Spaceport-Flight-Platform-shouldn’t-be- _too_ -hard-for-you-to-find::

Blackbird snorted at the snide tone, settling her carrycase carefully in Blurr’s cargo space with an affectionate brush of her dense EM field. Blurr poked back, shooing the Seeker’s claws away from his interior. _Anything_ sharp that close to his internals made him nervous, even if it was something attached to a friend.

“Alright. Don’t shake that up and _no peeking_ , not even with scans.” Blackbird ordered, waving a cautionary talon at the Agent. “I know you Ground-pounders are slow and all but don’t even _think_ you can stop to sneak a look at your presents withou-”

::PRESENTS?!?:: Blurr shrieked indiscriminately over the short-range comms before Blackbird could finish speaking, snapping his door shut and peeling out into traffic at the maximum legal speed.

“HEY!” The Seeker shouted in outrage that was only half for show, waving a fist at the blue Racer-frame as he nipped behind a slow-moving Convoy Class frame and vanished.

Several bystanders had been subjected to Blurr’s indiscriminate outburst over the comm channels and tuned to watch. They were greatly entertained by the sight of a Grounder managing to one-up a Seeker. Blackbird muttered vicious insults low in her vocaliser as she stomped for the nearest flight platform to take off after Blurr. She was NOT going to get tangled up with an Enforcer before _finally_ getting to see Iacon!

Despite leaving later, Blackbird managed to arrive at Blurr’s apartment building a good few breems before the Racer-frame. Ground traffic was heavier than air at this time of day and even Blurr hadn’t been able to make good time through the busy Iaconan streets. The Seeker was waiting casually outside, wings twitching as she scrutinised every move Blurr made as he pulled up and transformed neatly around her luggage. The carry-crate was shifted smartly from Blurr’s cargo area to his hands without any jostling at all. The Agent held the carry-crate out to its rightful owner with the smuggest of smug grins, unable to resist testing the sides as he did so.

“Showoff,” the Seeker commented amicably, rescuing the case from Blurr’s curious hands. “Come on, show me up. I don’t think I’ve seen this place yet.”

“No-I-don’t-think-you-have.” Blurr let them both into the atrium of the apartment building, registering Blackbird as a guest with the automated security system. “The-last-time-you-visited-I-was-still-on-probationary-status-and-not-living-in-Iacon-proper. That-was-before-they-worked-out-that-my-processor-actualy-works- _faster_ -than-my-vocaliser-when-it-comes-to-doing-my-job.”

Smothering Flightframe nerves at being in an enclosed space, the navy-and-white femme laughed at the bitterness in Blurr’s vocalisation and followed him into the elevator. This was a high-end place; there was no need to press buttons for your floor. Internal tracking systems monitored every frame within the apartment complex, those that were supposed to be there only had to enter an elevator to be delivered to the appropriate floor or back to the ground level. If you were not supposed to be there, the elevator doors simply refused to open until Enforcers arrived to cart you away.

Blurr’s guest made no comment on the paranoia displayed by having chosen to live in such an establishment, following quietly behind him until the Agent opened the door of his apartment with a flourish.

“Welcome-to-my- _humble_ -abode,” The Racer-frame announced, bowing mockingly and gesturing through the open door. “Crazyaft-Seekers-first!”

“So you _don’t_ want your presents?” Blackbird teased, strolling casually into Blurr’s home. The Seeker looking around with interest, flaring her wings so they almost touched the walls of the short hallway. Deliberately moved slowly enough to make the Agent behind her stamp his pede in frustration, she dawdled to the large main room. “You don’t fool me one bit, greedy-bot. I _know_ you’re only nice when people bribe you with enough gifts.”

“That’s- _not_ -true-and-you-know-it,” Blurr waved dismissively, before giving the entire house tour from the centre of the living area. “This-is-the-entertainment-area,fuel-preparation-unit-is-there,” His biolights dimmed slightly, “Spare-room-is-that-door-there,the-one-beside-it-is-the-washracks-and-you-passed-my-berthroom-door-on-the-way-in.”

Blackbird had grown up around Velocitronian racers with Blurr’s glitch, but she still had a little trouble keeping up as her host rattled on. Blurr’s accent had shifted a little during his time on Cybertron, making it harder to parse what he was saying. Silver-white optics followed Blurr’s direction, noting room locations as the Seeker put her case down near her pedes. Finished with the ‘tour’, Blurr threw himself face-down onto a comfortable couch adapted for his frametype. Impatience zinged through the social layers of his EM Field as the Seeker flexed her wings.

“You certainly picked the right place to bring flightframes home to,” Blackbird commented, reaching into subspace for a small device which she activated with the quick poke of a claw, “Such lovely high ceilings. Much better than that fragging _box_ of a place you were in last time I saw you.”

“It-gave- _me_ -screaming-claustrophobia-too-you-know.” Blurr made a face. His first apartment on Cybertron had been rather _less_ than adequate.

“May-I-ask-if-your-trine-coding-kicked-in-yet? Will-I-need-to-get-a-bigger-berth-for-the-spare-room-for-the-next-time-you’re-in-the-area-and-deign-to- _grace_ -me-with-your-presence?” His wheels spun playfully, biolights flashing a saucy sequence.

“No, I’m not old enough yet.” The Seeker contemplated the electronic gadget cradled in her claws, avoiding Blurr’s optics. “To be honest, I’m kinda hoping it doesn’t. There aren’t a lot of options available.”

Blackbird set the device on the table and snagged a long, padded bench to sprawl along, her wings twitching. Trines were always a touchy subject with Syngnathi Seekers. If the coding activated at the wrong place and time they ended up very dead, their Cybertronian Trinemates with them. If there weren’t suitable Syngnathi Seekers to Trine with and they successfully resisted bonding to Cybertronians, the internal conflict created by battling the urges of their coding would slowly drive the Syngnathi Seeker insane.

“This-place-is-clean-‘Bird,I-did-a-full-sweep-just-before-coming-to-meet-you.” Blurr said, tactfully changing the subject as the Seeker rummaged through her luggage, head and shoulders hanging off the end of the bench. “It-is-completely-safe-for-us-to-talk-without-that-thing-on.”

“Shut up and drink this.” Blackbird ignored Blurr’s complaints and tossed an exotic-looking crystal cube to the racer. “You obviously need it. And when you’re done we need to have a little _chat_.”

_Oh slag, what now?_

Blurr sat up and obediently unsealed the cube. His chemoreceptors reported the unmistakable fumes of potent, nutrient-enriched highgrade. Systems the Agent spent most of his time diligently suppressing pinged urgently, demanding he get the supplemented energon into his tanks NOW. A resigned sigh ghosted from his vents as Blurr took the first mouthful, Blackbird having found herself a cube and inserted a long, flexible acetate tube into it so she could remain sprawled on the bench and still consume the Energon.

The Racer-frame’s biolights pulsed with bliss. He let his optics shut down to focus on properly enjoying the flavour of the Energon. It soothed subtle cravings that had been nagging at him because he simply didn’t have the resources to satiate them without awkward questions being asked.

“I ran into an interesting Femme a few decaorns back; performer by the name of Misty.” Blackbird’s optics narrowed at Blurr.

The Racer-frame froze when he recognised one of Mystère’s more common aliases; armour clamping down to protect his protoform and biolights flaring for a full astrosecond.

“By the way, this femme was amazing in the berth, like slagging _ah-may-zing_.” The Seeker dropped the information casually, watching for a further reaction.

Blurr didn’t give her one.

_She fragged Mystère. Blackbird got to frag my old Boss and I can’t frag my new one. Oh sweet merciful Primus **why are you doing this to me?!?**_

“ _Any_ way,” The Seeker continued, “In the morning we got to talking and she sort of ‘let slip’ that she had a Velocitronian friend in Iacon that she was worried about, and since I was from the same colony I should find him and say hi, since a friendly face might do him some good.”

Oh no.

Oh no no no _nonononono!_

For a moment Blurr thought he saw the spectre of the Unmaker himself looking out of his friend’s optics as the Seeker stared him down.

“Blurr; _how much does she know?_ ” The femme demanded, silver optics boring into cyan in a tense standoff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blackbird is an OC of mine I'm basically just using to poke the story along and show you more Syngnath stuff.  
> For those of you who don't like CanonChar/OC stuff, I AM WARNING YOU NOW there will be Syngnathi-style Blurr/Blackbird action in the next chapter.  
> NO NOT EGGS. Blurr isn't in heat.  
> It is purely a 'Friends With Benefits' hookup. They don't get much chance to bump uglies with others of their own kind often, so they take what chances they can get.  
> I'm also using it to show you some Syngnathi courting behaviour and the transference of 'Ampulla' without having the acts inextricably linked to any given set of canon characters in your mind. It will also provide a good contrast to later *ahem* EVENTS. -notgivingspoilersnoshush*  
> Got it? Good.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blurr freaks out then FINALLY gets some aedeagus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REMEMBER YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED THAT BLURR SHAGS AN OC IN THIS CHAPTER.  
> Blackbird isn't sticking around. This is a one-night stand so the act of transferring Ampulla is not associated with any particular OTP from the get-go, and we have a sort of baseline to compare future Ampulla transactions to.

_~Hardline Communication~_

# Chapter Six

“Blurr; **_how much does she know_**.” The femme demanded, silver optics boring into his in a tense standoff.

“INTERFERING **_GLITCH!_** ” Blurr shrieked, throwing the empty cube down to shatter against the floor.

The Agent jumped to his pedes, grabbing his helm in both shaking hands.  He bared his gritted denta for a long moment before they parted on a torrent of words that nearly blew his vocaliser out.

“Ididnttellher _anything_ aboutusIonlytalkedaboutmissinghomeSheinsistedandI _tried_ tomakeherleavemealonebutshe ** _wouldn’tstop_** Shekept _prying_ anditwasso _hard_ Birdsosohard **not** totellhereverythingShesawhowIhavetodealwiththeheatshereandoh _Primus_ the **things** sheassumedImeanI _did_ wanttodothemaswellithurts _so **badly**_ beingsofarawayfromhomeandeveryoneandohPrimusBirdit _hurts_.”

Blackbird responded automatically the instant the verbal floodgates parted; the Seeker’s strong EM Field rolling out to envelop Blurr in calm. When he didn’t respond to the feel of an Incubator’s EM Field she was across the room in in a flash. The Seeker wrapped the panicking Racer-frame in strong arms, tugging his shaking form in against her chassis while rumbling powerful jet engines in a soothing purr. The sound eventually got through to the distraught mech, the torrent of words spiralling into incoherence before ending in a soft keen as his legs refused to hold him up. Blackbird took his weight and let them sink to the floor with Blurr curled in her lap.

“It’s ok, Blurr. It’s ok.” The Seeker crooned as she held the shaking Ovaria, gentle servos smoothing over his plating and EM Field pressing comfort against the brittle-feeling flux coming from him. “Ya wanna link up and show me instead?”

Blurr couldn’t force any more words out.

Frame practically vibrating from the force of emotions that had been building since his last visit home, Blurr nodded unhappily against the Seeker’s streamlined thoracic armour. By this point he was curled tightly in on himself, a ball of tension and misery. Blackbird vented a relieved sigh and hefted the smaller bot, keeping her field steady around him.

“Your nest or the guest room?” The Seeker didn’t need to finish her sentence; Blurr’s field and biolights pulsed with longing at the mention of his warm, safe berth. “Alright then, shortstuff. You’re the boss.”

Blurr didn’t even twitch until he felt the softness of the berth underneath his frame, only uncurling to latch on to Blackbird once she’d propped herself comfortably against the small mountain of blankets piled in the middle of the berth. His processor was currently locked in the grip of instincts that drove him to put all his troubles in the hands of a strong Incubator and purge the pain before it destroyed him. For once the Agent wasn’t going to fight this urge the same way he’d fought every single coding-driven heat cycle since leaving Velocitron.

The sound of a panel opening and a cable unrolling reached the Agent’s audios just before gentle claws tapped on his clavicular interface hatch. He sent the command to open it and felt the Seeker’s cable connect to the appropriate port before she extracted one of his own data cables, connecting it to a port and settling back. Once they were connected Blurr was shifted up so he was lying comfortably draped over the larger mech with his faceplates tucked into the larger mech’s neck.

Connection developed slowly between them. Blurr was unused to uplinking with someone who didn’t have Ops-grade firewalls and Blackbird was frankly inexperienced; neither was willing to push and risk the tenuous stability of the hardline connection they managed to form. Eventually, firewalls dropped with a shudder and the Ovaria carefully lead the other Syngnath through the mental landscape of his processors to memories of his former Boss, Mystère.

~ _Oh, that’s her alright_ ,~ Blackbird said with a mental snort as the first memory played ~ _Cocky thing didn’t even bother changing her paint!_ ~

~ _Head of Autobot Intelligence, ‘Bird_ ~ Blurr reminded the Incubator as she skimmed through the memories he offered, ~ _I’m pretty sure she does Ops stuff as well_.~

A distracted noise was all the response Blurr got and he let himself relax into the rare comfort of being so close to another of his kind. Wrapped in a distinctive Syngnathi EM Field, strong spark pulsing away near his own and a nice, warm chassis to press himself against. These things said _safety_ and _home_ to an Ovaria Syngnath in a way that nothing else did.

For the first time in vorns Blurr was able to relax properly.

~ _I can see why Mist The Meddler was worried_ ,~ Blackbird’s words over the hardline drew Blurr out of the warm haze of contentment he was floating in. ~ _I’m worried too, and I_ know _how much of that was the Heat and how much was you._ ~ Concern and affection flowed across the hardlines, easing the thick guilt smothering Blurr. ~ _You’re coming home for the next one, right?_ ~

~ _I’m going to try. You_ know _how erratic my cycles are_.~ Blurr replied, frustration and longing flooding across the link between their processors. ~ _If I slag the timing up I swear I’m going to pull the Family Emergency card._ ~

~ _Are you sure your new Boss will fall for that trick?_ ~ The Incubator’s mind-voice thrummed, delicious memories of past encounters with Ovaria in heat warming her frame. Some slid over the hardline by accident, Blackbird not being experienced enough to stop them.

~ _He will if it’s the ‘Unstable Agent needing time in the bosom of his family to recover’ kind of family emergency._ ~ The Racer-frame’s words bubbled with dark amusement, sending a few salacious images of his own back over the hardline. ~ _It’s not like I haven’t done it before . . ._ ~

~ _Cunning fragger,_ ~ Blackbird purred, tracing delicate claws down Blurr’s spinal strut. ~ _No wonder you’ve done so well out here. You’re as glitched as the rest of these crazy Cybertronians._ ~

~ _Want me to show you HOW glitched?_ ~ Blurr wriggled closer to the swiftly heating Seeker, his own engine revving at the welcome feeling of claws dancing over the thin armour of his sides. ~ _They’ve got some pretty interesting tricks here, even if their equipment isn’t exactly up to our standard_ s.~

The Seeker hummed thoughtfully, pretending to consider the offer. Blurr pulsed encouragement at the navy blue femme, tilting his head up to nibble delicately at a neck cable.

~ _I_ think _I’d rather discover those tricks at the source than get them second hand,_ ~ Blackbird purred, moving her helm to allow Blurr better access ~ _How about I try to convince you to consider me for your next cycle?_ ~

~ _Oh yes,_ please _yes_ ~ For once, Blurr’s hardline communication was almost as garbled as his vocalisations. He pushed the security specs and soundproofing of his apartment across the hardline with a wave of longing and lust for the offer.

~ _Sounds like we have a plan_ ~ Blackbird ~ _Lets unplug and do this properly_.~

Blurr’s fingers got there first, slipping connector jacks from sockets and returning the cables to their homes in record time. He backed smoothly away from the Seeker reclining on his berth, feeling with careful pedes for the floor before standing and posing temptingly.

Predatory silver optics watched as Blurr took a deep vent, locating the lines of code that would allow him to assume his Syngnathi form and initialising them. It felt exactly like having a good stretch after holding an awkward pose for too long. The Racer-frame sighed with happiness, writhing luxuriously as his limbs thickened and lengthened, the slightly cramped feeling fading as they resumed their true proportions. Slitted cyan optics gleamed wickedly at the navy-blue femme on the berth and Blurr blew her a kiss from taloned fingertips.

“Your turn, Birdie.” The Agent’s voice had a slight undertone to it in this form, changes to his vocaliser creating something that was almost-but-not-quite a two-part harmony.

Blurr could see the effect his voice had on the Incubator lying propped up on his berth. A shudder rippled over navy armour, flaring biolights tracing its path over her frame. Powerful flight engines gave a single, sharp rev which helped propel the femme up to her knees. Clawed navy hands ran caressingly down deep blue torso armour in a teasing little display before Blackbird initiated her own transformation sequence.

The berth groaned from the sudden increase in weight as the Seeker increased significantly in mass and height. Silver optics gained slitted central apertures between one sparkbeat and the next, backswept helmfins lengthened and rounded; becoming a pair of gracefully curved bicolour horns flowing out behind her helm. Even as the last armour plates settled back into place around a significantly increased thoracic space containing the maturation chamber, the Incubator couldn’t help bristling defensively with wide optics sweeping the room for threats.

It was an instinctive paranoia Blurr understood far too well.

“Mmmmm, I-don’t-think-I’ve-seen-you-since-your-adult-upgrades,” The smaller Syngnath purred, openly admiring the strong frame crouched on his berth. “You-are- _GORGEOUS_ ”

“So are you, Blurr.” The Seeker said, wing flaring and back arched to proudly display the expanded chest cavity. White biolights flickered in a calculated display, bright and clear against navy armour. “I wish I’d visited home a bit more often, now!”

Blurr preened under the keen gaze of the Incubator, relaxing his EM field properly for the first time in decades so that the odd high-frequency Ovaria resonance filled it. Blackbird followed suit, the distinctive low vibrato hallmark of a strong Incubator’s EM field flowed over Blurr like the soothing embrace of a hot oilbath after a hard mission. He sighed in bliss, protective shutters sliding over his optics.

The outer layers of their EM Fields brushed and mingled, advancing ut and giving way in turn until they found the delicate balance point where the additional resonances of their Subspecies created a harmonic that caressed both frames with waves of energy so dense they were almost physically tangible. Cerulean and navy plating flared, baring sensitive protoform to the forces that continued to build as the two Syngnath flexed their fields. Moaning, the Ovaria tested the abilities of this potential mate with lazy little twists and licks, changing the superficial boundaries of his sphere of influence with increasing enthusiasm.

Each alteration was matched with a smooth delicacy of touch that drew an appreciative croon from the light blue mech’s vocaliser as the backwash skittered across his plating. Swaying in place, barely cognizant of the world around him, Blurr deliberately pushed everything else aside to focus on the moment. An answering croon from the berth drew his attention to the source of the field that whispered _strength/desirable/safe_ to the deepest levels of his coding.

A perverse quirk of pale mouthplates was all the warning the Incubator got before Blurr flexed his EM field in a complex pattern, slipping around and through the other Syngnath’s range to enmesh their EM fields so thoroughly they actually became visible for the briefest moment.

The backlash of that instant of total harmony created a surge that exploded through primed and receptive systems. Since their armour was at maximum extension there was nothing to mute the shockwave of electromagnetic energy, tripping both Syngnathi into overload within microseconds of eachother. The force of the overload dropped Blackbird to all fours on the berth and sent Blurr crumpling slowly to the floor as their conscious motor control failed.

“Pit, Blurr.” The Incubator panted, cooling system straining audibly. “Maybe, on second thought, I should sit your next heat out. You’ll liquefy me!”

“Ops-and-Intel-training-Birdie.” Blurr purred smugly, pulling himself up from the floor and flopping on the berth. “Not-many-can-keep-up-with-an-IntelandOps-Ovaria. It’s-why-my-Creators-didn’t-want-me-to-go-this-far. Makes-it-harder-to-find-a-good-mate-so-there-are-fewer-bitlets-for-them-to-spoil.”

“Slag that.” The Seeker moved to straddle Blurr where he lay collapsed on the berth, nuzzling his cheek. “You should have the best available; someone worthy of making strong, fast, smart, _beautiful_ sparklings with you. Besides, quality is better than quantity isn’t it?”

The last sentence was purred playfully right into Blurr’s audial receptor, the modulation and suggestive subglyphs had his interfacing panel sliding open to expose his willing valve and inviting claspers to the open air. The fieldplay and overload had Blurr absolutely soaked, clear purple lubricant gleaming at the lips of his valve and dropping to the berth from flexing claspers. Even though Blurr wasn’t producing the unique chemical cocktail that he would when in heat, the scent of his lubricant still served to excite the Incubator looming over him.

Encounters like this were too rare for either of the Syngnathi to have become inured to the small nuances that differentiated their own kind from normal Cybertronians.

The smaller mech arched up off the berth, biolights burning bright as clever claws traced a path along delicate transformation seams along his clavicle plating, deftly avoiding the area over his spark chamber until they skipped right off the edge of his thoracic armour to scrape delicious lines into the upper layers of his light abdominal armour.

Feeling claws so close to his barely-protected systems, claws that could so easily eviscerate him but would be used solely in defence of himself and his young ignited an inferno within Blurr. In a move too fast to follow he lunged up off the berth, wrapping his slender arms around the Incubator’s thick torso and sinking his own claws deep into the openings between navy armour plates. A high-performance engine designed purely for speed revved, vibrations conducted down tensed armstruts and out into sensitive wing joints as small white claws hunted for purchase.

Blurr was rewarded by the sound of powerful jet engines engaging, the thrumming of mach-capable turbines covered the sound of the Incubator’s aedeagus sliding out of its protective housing. Navy wings mantled defensively, moving in little jerks and slow flexes as the pair of Syngnathi moaned on the berth. Blurr’s denta scrabbled for purchase on smooth window glass, smearing oral lubricants over the previously clean surface.

“Please-please-please _pleaseBirdieoh **please**_ ” the Ovaria begged, mouthing cockit glass as his claspers searched futilely through empty air. “ _SosoemptyforsolongpleaseBirdieJUSTFRAGME_ ”

The Incubator’s response to the frantic pleas of the writhing Racer-frame was a harsh bite to one of Blurr’s helm fins. Denta bared and growling a warning, the Seeker used her superior mass to fully subdue the smaller mech, EM field suddenly asserting dominance and a demand for stillness. Blurr’s helm was forced to the berth as his claspers finally made contact with the smooth, bulbous head of Blackbird’s aedeagus as the flexible organ extended slowly between them.

Desperate for the Incubator to _just hurry up already_ , Blurr forced his frame to remain absolutely still, aided by the clamp sharp dentae on his helm which spoke to his core coding Ovaria coding in unsubtle terms. While an aedeagus was nowhere near as fragile as his own ovipositor, it was still far more easily damaged than a normal Cybertronian’s spike. Fluid ran down the flexible structure, pooling on Blurr’s pelvic plating and dripping onto his. His armour was so hot that Blackbird’s lubricants dried quickly, creating large sticky patches that were going to be absolute _Pit_ to deal with later.

The Racer-frame’s entire processor was focused on the frame pressed against his and the feel of his claspers sliding around the roughly teardrop-shaped head of the Seeker’s aedeagus. The four flexible tendrils caressed the organ, spreading a thick coating of lubricant from both Ovaria and Incubator over the aedeagus in a gentle massage as they guided it towards the entrance to Blurr’s valve and reproductive tract.

“ _Mmmmmmmmhh Blurr_ ,” The Seeker moaned indistinctly around the mouthful of Blurr’s helm fin, the sound translating easily though the solid material of his helm to be understandable despite the roar of jet engines, “ _Primus_ that feels good.”

The blunt point of the aedeagus slid easily into Blurr’s soaked valve, callipers relaxing to allow the intruder to glide deeper into the slick embrace of well-lubricated interior walls. Both Syngnathi moaned in unison, EM fields meshing as the widest part of the head was accepted and the opening of Blurr’s valve cycled down, pulling the rest of the bulb inside with a loud squelch.

Now that they were connected it was safe for Blacbird to release the subduing hold on the Ovaria beneath her, Blurr dazedly registered the feeling of a warm glossa gently laving over the half-circle of denta marks impressed into his helm fin. Most of his attention was on the more important feeling of claspers readying the next span of the Incubator’s aedeagus, the mixture of lubricants running down from conjoined interface arrays and over blue aft plating to collect in a puddle on the berth. A gentle tug from claspers and a twitch of navy hips had the next segment sliding in easily, the process speeding up as Blurr’s rarely-used Syngnathi interfacing systems became reaccustomed to activity.

Finally, there was no more aedeagus to be found, only another set of claspers for the Ovaria’s own to intertwine with. The feeling was sublime; it sent biolights flaring to nearly incandescent brightness where Cybertronians would have had electrical discharge crackling between their plating in brilliant displays. Blurr’s engine whined, internal callipers rippling around the thick organ stuffing him. He drew the aedeagus in until the teardrop-shaped head pressed right against the end of his oviduct with the tip brushing the opening of his gestation chamber.

Eight claspers wound around each-other, holding tight in the slimy mess of lubricant running from Syngnathi interfacial arrays. Bound together by delicate tissues, all the Seeker and Racer could do was sway gently as surges of electric pleasure ran though their frames, the rarity of being able to indulge themselves in this act heightening the sensations.

“Blurr?” Blackbird gasped directly over the Agent’s audio sensor, the light blue metal slicked with their combined oral fluids “Do you want. . .?”

A distinctive pulse from the aedeagus buried inside him finished question. Blurr’s field writhed as his frame could not, expressing how very much he _did_ want what was being offered. Cooling systems normally reserved for racing came online as a fresh surge of desire spiked his internal temperature to dangerously high levels.

“Yesyesyes-oh _yessssss_ ” The Ovaria moaned incoherently against smooth metal and glass.

Something shifted within Blurr’s abdomen, the head of Blackbird’s aedeagus unfurling its protective outer layer to expose the delicate connectors. The Ovaria shrilled an indistinguishable garble of sounds as the aedeagus went to work, flaring slowly within him and gently teasing the entrance of his gestation chamber to open wide enough to accept the injector tip.

There was no technique to what happened next. Both Syngnath had been essentially celibate with their own kind for too long to have any control over their actions. Their claspers tightened around each other until the grip bordered on painful, the Incubator’s hips slammed the lighter mech to the berth, her frame forming an inescapable cage around the Ovaria as his limbs clamped tight to the femme looming over him. The Seeker’s aedeagus pulsed in synch with their meshed EM fields, cyan and white biolighting strobing in confusing patterns as a distinct mass passed though the aedeagus with the aid of Blurr’s callipers. When the object reached the end of the aedeagus Blurr sobbed, the welcome feeling of an Ampulla sliding into his gestation chamber so intensely satisfying that his processors blanked completely.

Two more gelatinous forms were deposited within Blurr in quick succession. The pulsating shaft sunk deep within him combined with the sudden feeling of fullness from a space that had been achingly hollow for centuries triggering his overload. The Incubator followed moments later, the tight clench of the Ovaria’s valve ripping a static-laced scream from her vocaliser.

When he was able to think again Blurr moaned in truly sated bliss. Blackbird’s aedeagus began to withdraw from his body as soon as his valve walls relaxed enough for her to do so safely. When the head popped free of Blurr’s valve a fresh wave of lubricant ran down between lazily undulating claspers to join the large puddle spreading on his berth.

“Three, huh?” The Ovaria nuzzled contentedly at white helm detailing, resting his nasal ridge against the Incubators to smirk into silver optics. “What-was-that-again-about-wanting-to-sit-it-out-for-fear-of-melting?”

“Oh shut up, you.” The Seeker snarled, flopping over sideways onto the pile of blankets, hauling Blurr halfway across the berth so they were out of the pool of their combined fluids. “I _know_ how long it’s been since you last went home. You need them.”

Blurr made a noncommittal noise as their armour cooled, plating pinging with the aftereffects of thermal expansion. Exhausted by the interfacing and pacified by the specific protocols engaged by the presence of the nutrient-dense Ampulla boluses in gestation chamber, all the Ovaria could do was purr contentedly and shift his swiftly cooling frame closer to the large, warm Incubator in a silent demand for snuggles.

“Slagging Ovaria and your cuddles,” The Incubator rumbled, draping a wing over the smaller mech as he drifted into recharge. “I swear to Primus you’re all a lot of overgrown cybercats.”

Gentle claws traced the softening marks of fatigue and strain on pale faceplates, protective coding satisfied by visual proof that the worst damage to the Ovaria’s frame was being repaired. Blurr was definitely pushing himself too hard and it worried the Incubator that he was so far from the support he desperately needed.

Eventually Blackbird followed Blurr down into recharge, her larger frame positioned defensively between her friend and the berthroom door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An Ampulla is basically a gelatinous mass of Energon and assorted metals/minerals that Syngnathi need to keep their frams healthy. With their heat cycles Ovaria go through these additives at a MUCH higher rate than Incubators, who only use them when gestating a viable clutch. The Incubators are able to build up reserves of the metals/minerals and pass them to an Ovaria as a courting gift/expression of care.  
> EMF interaction is extremely important to Syngnathi. Their helm horns are full of extra sensors for this purpose.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Longarm and Blurr go for a walk at the gardens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry this took so long. This chapter is basically the kind of thing I find hardest to write. Happy fun fluffy nobody-dies stuff. So I procrastinated like a champ. Next 3-4 chapters should go up weekly. Can't promise though.

# Chapter Seven

Blurr pulled up outside one the public Crystal Gardens of Iacon several breems before he was supposed to be meeting Longarm Prime. Always being early was simply something he’d learned to live with.

He actually quite liked it.

The forced idleness helped him convince his frame that he didn’t _need_ to keep moving, thanks. Doing so enabled him to present a more relaxed façade to whoever he was interacting with instead of jumping out of his armour while his overactive systems kept trying to re-engage.

Of course he never showed up early to a rendezvous when working, that was just _stupid_. Hanging around where you weren’t supposed to be drew attention, and on the job drawing attention would get you captured or killed.

As he transformed and moved out of the way of pedestrian traffic, Blurr realised that the only time he’d ever actually been _late_ for anything had in fact been on a mission and due to circumstances entirely outside of his control.

Shaking off the bad memories evoked by the sudden insight, the Agent propped himself against the wall of the Central Iacon Crystal Gardens and settled down to wait for Longarm Prime.

While the public Crystal Gardens of Iacon were no match for those of Praxus, it made sense for Blurr and Longarm Prime to begin here. It was one of the few tourist attractions that Iacon had where Blurr could move and fidget without annoying the other patrons.

Speaking of which, it didn’t look like a terribly busy day. Blurr thought he _might_ possibly be able to make it through this without making too big a spectacle of himself.

Time dragged and Blurr’s thoughts wandered, the slow Cybertronian altmodes cruising past making him wish for the familiar comforts of home.

_Somehow_ Blackbird had wheedled his crush on Longarm out of him (Or maybe it had slipped across the hardline alongside his memories of Mystère. At the time Blurr had been too happy and full of Ampulla to be angry that the Incubator had found out) and suggested this place since it served Offworld refreshments alongside more traditional Iaconan fare.

This was an added bonus, as the promise of familiar Energon preparations drew mecha from all over Cybertron as well as many from the Colonies who happened to work in Iacon, like Blurr. This meant that the Racer-Frame’s accent and rate of speech would hoprfully go relatively unnoticed amongst the general clutter of foreign mecha filling the place. Longarm himself had also brought up that particular side benefit of the proposed location as well as saying he’d be pleased by the possibility of Blurr introducing the Prime to some Velocitronian specialties at the Crystal Gardens.

All of this combined to make the Racer-Frame feel as if the universe was ganging up on him.

It’s wasn’t _his_ fault that he’d been born with this glitch, he’d just done his best to make it an asset instead of a blight on his life! And it _definitely_ wasn’t his fault that he was surrounded by matchmaking slaggers who quite obviously needed to find nice sparkmates of their own or get a blasted hobby that _didn’t_ include poking into his private life.

Blurr exhaled through his vents in a relieved gust when Longarm Prime proved as punctual as ever, rolling up in his crane altmode precisely at their agreed-upon meeting time. He transformed in a flurry of shifting treads and folding struts, giving Blurr a reserved smile as the Racer-Frame bounded towards him.

“Agent Blurr, it is good to finally see you outside of the office.” Longarm said in greeting.

“You too, Sir. I-do-believe-that-I-recall-hearing-one-of-the-Medical-staff-threatening-you-with-some-rather-unpleasant-consequences-if-you-managed-to-achieve-your-apparent-goal-of-becoming-one-with-your-office-chair.” Blurr tried to ignore the funny feeling in his spark. Longarm hadn’t meant anything special by what he said. “Or-maybe-I-was-imagining-things. Being-stuck-inside-for-too-long-tends-to-do-funny-things-to-my-frametype.”

Longarm actually _laughed_. It was quiet, but it was a laugh.

Blurr’s spark danced a little in its chamber in time with the sound.

_I’m so slagged._

Blurr fell in beside his superior as they entered the public access area of the Crystal Gardens, letting Longarm set the pace.

“You were not mistaken, Agent Blurr.” Longarm said as they circled the wide entry plaza. “Red Alert did indeed threaten to disable my Transformation Cog and lock me into vehicle mode if I didn’t start observing the proper rest days.”

“So-this-is-one-of-them?” Blurr queried. He couldn’t hide his horror when Longarm nodded casually, turning onto one of the scenic pathways. “But- _Sir_ -you- _shouldn’t_ -waste-your-days-off-on-me! This-is- _still_ - _technically_ -work. I-mean,-because-Mystère-asked-you-to-do-this-and-all. _IfRedAlertfindsoutshe’ll-”_

“Agent Blurr; that is _enough_.” Longarm’s EM Field pulsed with irritation, his voice cutting off Blurr’s torrent of words like a guillotine. “It isn’t up to you _or_ Red Alert to dictate how I spend my orns off.”

In the face of Longarm’s reprimand Blurr wilted, shrinking further into himself under the curious looks from other park-goers. His biolights dimmed and his Field silently expressed a formal apology while they continued to meander their way along the carefully tended paths of the public garden.

After a few breems of silence the Racer-Frame risked a look at Longarm only to find him walking stiffly with his helm held high so the light of Cybertron’s star glittered off his forehelm sensor. His field was closed off, furthering the impression of carefully controlled anger and disapproval.

An angry Boss was a Boss who could assign him a mission with less-than-optimal odds of survival.

Blurr decided to focus on that instead of the struggle in his Spark.

Eventually Longarm broke the silence.

“I appreciate your concerns, Agent Blurr.” He began. “However, I believe they are misplaced.”

Longarm held up a hand to forestall Blurr’s attempt at a response and turned onto a path that wound between tall crystal growths.

“Unlike you I do not have friends who are able to visit me regularly. Command has been quite insistent that I form… _associations_ within the Elite Guard so they no longer have to worry about my own mental state.” Longarm looked distinctly annoyed with this, his mouthplates turning down as he frowned at the crystal growths.

_Is he be saying what I think he’s saying?_

Blurr turned Longarm’s words over in his mind as they moved through the purple-tinged shadows of the crystal formations. No matter which angle he examined it from the Agent always reached the same conclusion. Longarm was under orders to socialise or face repercussions from On High. He was also aware that of all of his  Agents, Blurr required slightly closer monitoring to ensure he was stable enough for duty.

Longarm was choosing to fell two glitchmice with one dart.

“Sir-I-have-no-objections-to-you-making-your-life-within-the-Guard-easier-as-well-as-ensuring-your-glitchiest-asset-remains-functioning-smoothly.” Blurr said with a self-deprecating smile.

“Acting under orders we may be, but that is no reason not to enjoy ourselves.” Longarm observed, coming to a halt in front of some sort of sculpture. “Your Seeker friend made an excellent suggestion; this place is more interesting than I thought it would be.”

Blurr seized on the opportunity to change the subject, moving it away from the awkwardness of work and onto something a little more pleasant.

Like Birdie and _home_.

“Blackbird-is-a-photographer-sir-and-has-seen-a-great-deal-of-the-best-attractions-Cybertron-and-the-colonies-have-to-offer. She-suggested-other-places-in-Iacon-as-well-that-I-had-not-considered-before.” Blurr tipped his helm back, optics measuring the height of one of the nearby crystal growths. “I-honestly-thought-that-this-place-would-not-be-worth-visiting,especially-when-you-take-the-Gardens-of-Praxus-into-account. But-when-it-comes-to-interesting-tourist-attractions-Birdie-was-as-right-as-always.”

Even though his attention was on the crystal formation, Blurr didn’t miss the subtle cues that told him Longarm didn’t approve of the use of a nickname when he referred to his fellow Velocitronian.

“You have seen the Praxus Gardens, Agent Blurr?” Longarm’s vocal tones were carefully neutral, deliberately avoiding the subject of the Seeker.

He was _too_ neutral.

Blurr knew that tone when he heard it, having used it many times.

“No-Sir-I-have-not.” He replied, moving off along a path that he thought might take them to the fuel vendors. “Unless-it-is-for-work-I-have-not-spent-any-time-outside-Iacon-proper-during-my-time-on-Cybertron. This-city-has-everything-I-could-possibly-need-to-entertain-myself-during-my-time-off.”

“Like the racing tracks?” Longarm sounded amused as he followed sedately in Blurr’s fidgety wake. “I know that those others of your frametype within the Guard spend the majority of their free days at them. Do the Iacon tracks measure up to the ones on Velocitron?”

Blurr gave the question full consideration, reaching his conclusion long before he was willing to break the comfortable silence. Longarm didn’t press him for an answer, which the Ovaria appreciated.

“They-vary-in-quality-Sir,which-is-only-to-be-expected. The-competition-tracks-all-have-to-meet-international-standards-which-are-the-very-highest-so-naturally-they-are-consistent-with-similar-ones-on-Velocitron.” Blurr was in front as they entered the vendor plaza, subconsciously scanning the area for threats before he dropped back to walk beside Longarm. “Iacon-does-have-some-types-of-training-tracks-I-hadn’t-encountered-before-coming-here.One-or-two-have-now-become-some-some-of-my-favourites.”

They moved unerringly towards one of the vendors that had a distinctly Velocitronian style to their stall. Blurr recognised some of his favourite hard candies on display and felt solvent fill his oral cavity in anticipation. Birdie had been right about this place! He would definitely be coming back here if he could slow his speech down enough for the Iacon native running the stall to understand him.

“So, these are from Velocitron?” Longarm asked, giving the descriptions a dubious look while the stallkeeper grinned and Blurr bounced on his toepieces. “Somehow I am _not_ surprised.”

“Well-Sir-the-majority-of-Velocitron’s-inhabitants-are-either-racer-frames-like-myself-or-those-with-a-naturally-high-energy-requirement.” Blurr said cheerfully before making some selections. “There- _are_ -a-few-things-that-Offworlders-find-enjoyable-that-won’t-overwhelm-your-systems.”

The stallkeeper was good at hiding his surprise at when Blurr’s rapid-fire speech when talking to Longarm suddenly slowed to something closer to normal when making his purchase. He also didn’t have any problems with Blurr’s lingering Velocitronian accent, which was a blessing. Since the Gardens were a popular tourist destination Blurr reasoned that the vendors would have to deal with much stronger accents than his on a daily basis. After all, his _was_ significantly altered after Autoboot Camp and centuries serving in the Elite Guard.

Once Blurr’s transaction was completed Longarm made his own, with input from both Blurr and the vendor who had more experience when it came to knowing which of his wares would be palatable to native Cybertronians.

Blurr had opened his package while Longarm and the vendor talked and was alreadt nibbling on some lovely spicy corundum-dusted spheres as he and the Prime walked away. He hadn’t really been paying attention to what Longarm purchased, preferring to focus on how the Prime looked with the light of Cybertron’s star reflecting from his plating and forehead sensor in contrast the dense pseudo-rubber of his thickly treaded shoulders which seemed.

The Ovaria immediately regretted his lack of attention when Longarm raised his purchase to his mouthplates. If he’d been paying attention he could have steered him towards something less… distracting.

The vendor had somehow talked Longarm Prime into purchasing a hydrogen-cooled Energon pole. It was something that combined an energy-light Energon with a thin coolant swirled around each other and rendered solid by suspending the mould in liquid nitrogen for several hours. It was _perfect_ for post-race refuelling; Blurr’s processor dawdled, full of happy memories of relaxing with friends, snapping mouthfuls off an Energon Pole and letting them boil on his glossa.

Unfortunately, the vendor hadn’t told Longarm the proper way to consume his purchase. He’d probably assumed Blurr would do it.

_Oh no._

Blurr could see it coming but couldn’t stop it, just like seeing an accident three streets away while you were too far away to stop it. His vocaliser clicked uselessly and the world moved in slow motion as Longarm Prime raised the Energon Pole to his oral cavity and wrapped his lipplates around it slowly, almost like he was deliberately exaggerating what he was doing.

The entire section of Energon Pole that was in contact with Longarm’s lipplates (and no doubt the piece inside his oral cavity, too) reacted to the warmth of his frame by immediately reverting to liquid form and running down his chin in a bubbling mess of pink and green liquid.

[Thought|Action:Lick him clean?/ **ABORT!** DELETE **_DELETE_** ]

Too busy with controlling his rogue processor, Blurr watched with wide-eyed horror as Longarm almost choked on the mouthful he was trying to swallow. The Racer-Frame had never been gladder in all his functioning for his overly-efficient cooling system when Longarm extended his glossa to lick at the mess on his lipplates and chin before using the back of his hand to wipe the rest away and _laughing_.

The utter mortification blazing in Blurr’s Field only seemed to fuel Longarm’s amusement, optics and forehelm sensor sparkling when he saw the expression on Blurr’s faceplates.

_I am so_ slagged _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shockwave knows he did that wrong. He just loves fucking with Blurr. It's his only real entertainment in goody-two-shoes land.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who can fuck up a mail run?  
> Blurr, apparently.

# Chapter Eight

Blurr swore and ducked into a side street, cursing the lower levels of Cybertron and their twisted geography which restricted line of sight. Pausing in the shelter of a pile of scrap metal the Agent tried to take stock of his situation and formulate a plan to escape. His processor strayed, still not fully himself despite the boost Blackbird had given him with the Ampulla.

Oh how Blurr wished he was in his berth, curled up against the Incubator. Or any big warm frame, really. When it came down to it, if someone gave him a choice right now, he would rather snuggle with Megatron himself than deal with this absolute _slagpile_ of a situation.

He couldn’t figure out what had gone wrong. He’d done less than a handful of missions for Longarm Prime and desperately wanted to live up to the good things Mystère had apparently said about him. It hurt his pride that he was screwing up so soon. This was supposed to have been a mail run, retrieving information about Decepticon activities from an Agent on the other side of Cybertron and returning it to Autobot Headquarters in Iacon.

Seriously, what kind of loose-bolted, incompetent clunker frags up a _mail run?!_

Special Agent Blurr of the Autobot Elite Guard, apparently.

The sound of multiple approaching pedes snapped the Racer-frame from his distraction and sent him hurtling into motion, leaving his temporary refuge and sprinting away from the sound. He couldn’t risk confrontation and capture. Not this time. Laser shots impacted the ground where the racer-frame had been standing, his pursuer obviously unable to compensate for his speed.

The few Decepticons remaining on Cybertron hadn’t survived this long by being stupid. Blurr was not about to underestimate his enemy and get himself offlined through carelessness.

More laser blasts that felt like warning shots decided his course at each intersection, the path becoming narrower and the amount of rubble on the ground increasing. Blurr was on pede, it was simply too cluttered here for him to risk transforming into his altmode. It felt like he was being herded through a maze, the Decepticons definitely had the advantage in knowing the terrain and were determined as Pit to ensure that Autobot Command never got to see the information Blurr carried locked within his processors.

At the first sign of trouble he’d downloaded the information packet from the data slug and pulverised it under the reinforced heel of his pede. Blurr well-trained, so well-trained in fact that if he was captured he was certain he’d be able to resist whatever these goons did to him in the realms of interrogation.

The Agent didn’t think it likely it would come to that. Up ahead there was a friendly-looking opening, a door hanging half-off its hinges and a broad path behind it that sloped gloriously upwards towards freedom.

_An inter-level highway tunnel._

The sounds of pursuit dimmed, fading behind him as Blurr put on an extra burst of speed, outpacing the sluggish underground air currents to shoot through the door and transforming as soon as his pedes hit the blessedly smooth surface of the highway. He gunned his engine and took off up the ramp. Up, up and around, speeding up and _out_ of the guts of Cybertr-

The ground beneath his wheels rocked, delicate sensors registering the distinctive feel of a heavy explosive detonation. Blurr transformed on the fly, limbs spread to maximise points of friction, skidding to a stop as the heavy support-walls of the inter-level causeway buckled dangerously around him.

When the world stopped moving a harsh Kaonite accent broke the silence, broadcasting on a commonly-used Cybertronian frequency. Flakes of corroded metal rained down around the Agent as he listened.

::Oh little Autobot, did you feel that? That was _our_ special gift to _you_ ::

Blurr snarled in silence, refusing to reply to the blatant bait. He was too good to fall for that.

::Oooh the _silent treatment?_ How _childish_. You should at _least_ say thank-you for such a _lovely_ burial. Not many get to actually _see_ their own, after all. And we put in _so much_ work to make it perfect for you!::

The obnoxious sing-song tone the Decepticon was using really did _not_ improve the speaker’s accent. Still, the message was delivered. They had known he was coming, that he was using this route. They had prepared an ambush and herded him into a trap. And he’d fallen for it because this was supposed to be an easy post-laying mission where it didn’t matter that he wasn’t at the top of his game.

Someone had really fragged up on this one.

Someone else _besides_ himself.

Blurr ground his dentae, fuming. He was _better_ than this! He should have _realised_ they were directing his movements! Training kicked in, pushing the self-recriminating strings into a queue for deletion and taking stock of his surroundings. He couldn’t get any further out; the entire level above him had collapsed, held up by one undamaged support column. As the Racer-frame was cautiously retracing his steps back along the causeway, the irritating Kaonite spoke again.

::By the by; _don’t_ try to call your Autoscum friends for help. They _won’t_ be able to hear you! We’re going to sit _right_ here and make sure that you appreciate your tomb to its _fullest_ extent, little Autobot. Your greyed-out frame will make a _lovely_ present for your masters::

While resisting the urge to roll his optics, Blurr rounded the final corner and came face-to-face with a dead end.

He was trapped.

Blurr sank to the ground, burying his faceplates in his hands to ground himself while his processor whirled ahead, racing at lightspeed through all the possible outcomes of this situation. He could find a way out, make it back to Iacon. If there was no escape, he would offline here. This mission was comm-silent so there was nobody expecting contact. It would be orns before he was reported missing, several more after that before anyone would be dispatched to search for him.

A brief probe over his comms confirmed that his pursuers did indeed possess sophisticated jamming equipment and were using it to block his ability to call for help.

There were enough concentrated rations in his subspace to last for about three orns at his usual rate of fuel consumption on a long-distance run. The encounter with this group of Decepticons and the attempt to outrun them had burned through his entire orn’s ration; fuel tank pinging urgent warnings now that he took the time to acknowledge them.

That was somewhat less than ideal.

He would need to be _extremely_ careful with his energon and do something about conserving heat. Due to the peculiarities of his frame, if Blurr couldn’t find a way to stay warm with minimal fuel expenditure he would drop into a hypothermic stasis long before he starved.

Even if he was only about a decaorn from incurring serious frame damage from starvation at the moment.

For the first time in his life, the Agent cursed his frame and his younger self that had leapt at the opportunities his sleek racer build had allowed. His timing glitch had been transmuted into gift, allowing him to do what no other had even attempted before. Now if he felt like it Blurr could chase the horizon and overtake the sunset, challenge the wind itself and leave to eating his exhaust.

All the modifications and enhancements did have a serious downside that was now staring him in the faceplates. The enhancements made to his speed left Blurr with more than the usual Racer-frame tendency to run cool when not in motion. One particularly cranky old medic had complained that his cooling systems were _too_ efficient and would probably get him offlined one day.

Well, it looked like the Decepticons had given Blurr the chance to prove that battered old veteran right, after all.

Vaguely, Blurr wondered if the medic would feel vindicated.

 _If_ the Autobots ever recovered his frame.

Shaking his head and assigning the unhelpful lines of thought to the deletion queue, Blurr began a methodical decimetre-by-decimetre investigation of his entire prison. There wasn’t much to it. If one were to remove the ramp he had about half a kilometre of vertical space, forming a squat cylinder. The ramp itself would provide enough length for Blurr to get to maybe one-third of his top speed before exiting, given the curvature and cramped conditions.

The problem was _finding_ an exit.

The walls were warped but hadn’t cracked, so there was no chance of sliding out through a crack. It was too dangerous to attempt to shift anything in the new ceiling and climb out. Side-to-side across the chamber Blurr had just enough space to stave off claustrophobia without relying too heavily on the mental games he’d been taught during training.

As the orns ground on, interrupted periodically by the atrocious lilting speeches of the Kaonite inquiring after Blurr’s ‘health’, the Agent inspected every single patch of the chamber three times over with optics, fingers and what scanners he had at his disposal. The only gap he discovered that appeared to be a viable exit was undoubtedly planned by Unicron as a little laying gift.

The rubble around the causeway entrance created a narrow tunnel Blurr could crawl through if he moved carefully.

It would send him straight back into the arms of his pursuers.

He didn’t want to use it.

By the third orn he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was the only way out.

He ran out of energon on the fifth orn. The regular movement required to keep his core frame temperature above minimum caused an uncontrollable spike in fuel consumption every time he carefully moved his limbs. There was nothing he could do about it except try to hold off until the warning ping sounded, warning Blurr that he had to move NOW or risk hypothermic stasis.

Those pings and the regular auditory assaults of the Decepticons became his only way to keep time. Hollow, aching fuel tanks and eternal cold that gnawed its way into his very struts were the only consistent things in the dark. His cognitive processes and recall became sluggish and then started glitching, prepared as he was for this to happen Blurr was still more than half-convinced that he’d actually offlined in the explosion and this was the special corner of the Pit reserved for Sparks that didn’t originate from Vector Sigma.

The possibility that the Elite Guard might just send someone to get him out was all that kept Blurr from a suicidal dash head-on into the arms of his captors. The information he carried was important. _So_ important in fact that Autobot Headquarters hadn’t dared to draw attention to it, sending Blurr without backup.

The Racer-frame shouldn’t have _needed_ backup, anyway.

Headquarters would have to send someone to look for him. They had to. They knew where he had been and where he was supposed to be.

The Decepticons hadn’t gotten him _that_ far off course, had they?

Time warped, stopping and starting without noticeable rhythm. It rushed forward in the shuttering of an optic before decelerating to creep so slowly the Agent felt like it was trying to move backwards. To undo everything back to the point of his entrapment in some form of mute apology.

Blurr had honestly expected that the Decepticons to have given up by now. _Why_ weren’t they going away?! He railed at them in the privacy of his own mind, myriad broken half-formed trains of thought that all circled around a single point.

_Go away!_

The Kaonite still grated on. He could only assume that the mech was keeping to the same pattern of his original announcements. For all Blurr knew, the Decepticon really _was_ doing several one after the other before stopping for days on end. When he didn’t absolutely have to move, Blurr crawled into one of the large folds of warped wall plating that was the perfect shape to hold his frame, curling himself into a tight ball under the singule emergency thermal mesh from his subspace.

For an incalculable period of time, Blurr endured.

When the first throbbing pains radiated from his joints, the Agent knew he was in deep trouble.

His frame was starting to cannibalise itself.

If he was feeling it in his joints then his systems had already gone through enough of his protoform that it simply couldn’t take any more and had shifted on to thinning down his frame and armour.

_No no no nonononono!_

The Decepticons had been silent for a while now. Blurr’s chronometer had shut down what felt like vorns ago, so he had no idea if he had simply blanked out and missed a recital or if they’d packed up and left. The Agent uncurled himself from the curled position he’d been in since his last core temperature warning ping forced him to move.

Everything ached.

Struts, atrophied protoform, armour and internal mechanics seemed to groan as he raised his head from the protective embrace of his arms. Slag, even his _optics_ ached when he forced them online.

Blurr knew he was facing precisely two choices.

The first course of action would be to remain here in this cavern waiting for an Autobot rescue squad that was unlikely to come, eventually being forced to trigger his suicide protocols before his processors degraded to the point where even this limited rationality was beyond him.

The second option was to make an all-or-nothing escape attempt. To creep down that narrow passageway into the blaster fire of those strangely determined Decepticons who might just put a round through his spark chamber before he even made it out into the open.

Blurr was going to be slagged no matter what he did.

As the choice was his, he would rather go down trying to complete his mission than here in the dark like a cornered glitchmouse.

It wasn’t a decision he had to consciously make. One didn’t become an Elite Guard Intelligence Agent of Blurr’s calibre without what was officially termed ‘exemplary dedication to duty.’

Folding the thermal mesh and tucking it back into subspace, Blurr stretched his limbs and resolutely began the long, slow crawl towards uncertain freedom.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shockwave starts more intensive digging into Blurr's secrets and talks Metroples into helping him out.

# Chapter Nine

Shockwave wore the form of Longarm Prime with increasing ease these days, the instances of fumbling and banging into objects decreasing steadily as he became more comfortable within the smaller frame. Part of him suspected this also had something to do with the absence of a certain foreign blue mech from the Iacon headquarters of the Autobot Intelligence Agency.

The less he saw of Agent Blurr the fewer temptations Shockwave had to remove the buffer of the Longarm profile from between himself and the world around him to experience sensor input in sharper detail.

The Agent was something of an enigma.

In Shockwaves line of work enigmas were dangerous.

Quietly enjoying this frame’s possession of _hands_ and their ability to type without the risk of puncturing the datapad he was working on, Shockwave let the personality profile that was Longarm take control for the routine paperwork that came with the position of ‘Prime’ and withdrew deep into his processors to ponder his next move in unravelling the mystery of the Velocitronian Agent.

He had already read Blurr’s official dossier so often he felt that every useless pixel of the glyphs it was written in had been burned permanently into his memory banks. From the point that the racer-frame had set foot on Iacon, Blurr’s records were as complete and detailed as were necessary for any member of the Elite Guard. However before that point they were rather . . . lacking.

_Especially_ for a member of the Intelligence Services.

The information forwarded from Velocitron was sparse. There was just enough there so that someone who wasn’t actively prying –say, an _actual_ Autobot- wouldn’t notice, but it didn’t quite stand up to the kind of scrutiny Shockwave had subjected them to.

It was mildly annoying.

He couldn’t rule out the possibility that his predecessor had done a little creative editing on her files before handing the position over to ‘Longarm’, but there was no evidence of anything other than a typical personal notations purge any decent spymaster would carry out before they left their post.

It was time to do a bit more digging.

When Longarm was finished with the tedious business of collating mission data Shockwave resumed full control of his frame. Using one of the untraceable routes that came with his position as Head of Intelligence he entered the Autobot mainframe.

It wasn’t possible that Blurr was an _active_ Decepticon agent. Shockwave knew of all the current ones as he was personally responsible for their current postings. He wasn’t being arrogant when he’d pointed out that he was the only one left with the skills to carry out such an important and delicate mission as this one.

However there was a _slight_ chance that Blurr was a sleeper agent placed here by Shockwave’s predecessor amongst the Decepticons. He wanted to eliminate that possibility before laying out any early plans to remove Blurr before he became a threat to Shockwave’s own mission.

Blurr was an extremely intelligent and capable Agent; there was no doubt about that. With the increased contact required to keep the mech stable as well as keep his own superiors from making unfavourable noises about Longarm’s reclusive behaviour it was only a matter of time before he let something slip that would make Blurr suspicious.

The infatuation Shockwave was carefully cultivating would only work for so long.

While he was the best mech available for this operation, he was far from perfect. He would slip eventually. It was annoying to acknowledge, but when it all came down to it Shockwave was a realist.

Shockwave stopped his unproductive musing and began methodically combing through the deeper layers of the Autobot datanet, starting with the timing of Blurr’s absences.

There appeared to be no appreciable pattern to the timing of the Agent’s benders on Cybertron and trips to Velocitron, although it was noted that visits home took place after a gradual and noticeable worsening of the both Agent’s mental and physical health and produced a marked increase in both physical health and mental stability when he returned to Iacon.

The decrease in Blurr’s health prior to those visits appeared to have no impact on his performance. As well as being intelligent it appeared that the racer-frame was also _extremely_ dedicated and professional, qualities Shockwave admired in mecha that might become opponents.

It made for a more entertaining game.

A background thread idly analysing details of Blurr’s behaviour pinged the HUD of his Longarm form with a possible explanation that was so absurd even the 20% likelihood of it being correct couldn’t convince Shockwave to take it seriously.

This processing thread had combined Blurr’s origins, preferred additives, his choice of living quarters and his periodic breakdowns to come up with a one-in-five chance that the Velocitronian mech was a Syngnath.

The extreme irregularity of the Blurr’s periodic breakdowns was the biggest downfall of that particular hypothesis.

Ovaria’s cycles differed in length from Syngnath to Syngnath but once established they ran like clockwork. Incubators didn’t have an analogous cycle but _would_ eventually become broody if they went for too long without successfully courting an Ovaria for a clutch, fertile or not.

Shockwave terminated that particular thread, redirecting the processing power. It was simply _ludicrous_.

Shutting off his terminal he deciding to move on with the next stage of investigations.

Blurr’s quarters in Metroplex.

To carry this out he would need to get the Metrotitans cooperation.

This wasn’t hard, if one was as skilled at manipulation as Shockwave.

“Metroplex?” Shockwave addressed the empty air of his office.

“Yes, Longarm Prime?” The Metrotitans voice came from all around, unsettling Shockwave although he took care not to show it.

“Mystère’s notes on Blurr have me worried about him. I know I’m probably being paranoid but a certain amount of paranoia is a job requirement in my profession.” An apologetic smile and spread of his hands to thin air followed that statement.

“I would like to inspect Agent Blurr’s quarters for anything he could use to harm himself _before_ he returns from his current mission.” Shockwave took care to fill his EM Fiels with quiet worry as he continued. “Agent Blurr _is_ overdue, and anything likely to delay an Agent as experienced as Blurr himself would undoubtedly cause trauma.”

Shockwave paused for a precisely calculated length of time to let Metroplex digest those words before finishing.

“I have all faith in my team and in you, but it would help me lay my worries to rest if I could see for myself that upon his release from Medical Agent Blurr would be protected from himself.”

The Metrotitan considered his statement carefully, humming softly to let ‘Longarm’ know that he still had the massive mech’s attention. Shockwave drew heavily upon the Longarm persona to fill his EM Field with the appropriate emotional content while Metroplex thought.

“I also worry about Agent Blurr safety, Longarm Prime.” The Metrotitan said. “I would be happy to allow you to inspect Agent Blurr’s quarters to set both of our minds at ease. There are things that you would know to look for that I would miss.”

“Thank you, Metroplex.” Shockwave said, the Longarm profile projecting relief and gratitude. “When would be convenient for you?”

“My scanners have just picked up Agent Blurr’s Spark signature entering the lower levels, Longarm Prime.” Metroplex sounded alarmed. “It reads as significantly weakened and his biosigns are extremely erratic. I would advise that you assist him to medical and we continue our discussion at a later date.”

Shockwave was on his pedes so fast his processor barely registered the movement, accessing the correct feed from Metroplex without a second thought and hissing at what he found.

“I shall do as you suggest, Metroplex. Please alert medical if you haven’t already. Tell them I will locate Agent Blurr and bring him in myself.” Shockwave locked down his console and the Longarm persona prepared itself to face the worst possible situation. “There is no way of telling what state his processor is in and if he is currently capable of telling friend from foe.”

“Understood. Good luck, Longarm Prime.”

Humming absently, Shockwave left his office and went to secure Agent Blurr.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blurr returns to the relative safety of Metroplex and Autobot HQ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of/referenced siphoning and cannibalism in this chapter

# Chapter Ten

He was cold.

He was cold and pain and hunger.

It reduced his awareness to a single objective.

_Complete the mission._

Blurr had crawled out of the collapsed inter-level highway tunnel to find no sign of his Decepticon pursuers. Tracing the route they’d chased him down he discovered that they’d even removed the greyed corpses of their companions when they left, something they wouldn’t normally do.

It had driven the Agent into a fury of despair.

Their tanks would have held enough Energon to get him most of the way home.

Before training he would have baulked at stooping to cannibalism, even in the state he was in now. The instructors had beaten it into all of the operatives that completing your mission was the _only_ moral principle that held sway in their world.

Blurr _would_ complete his mission.

He would survive.

The lessons of his long training were as fresh in his struts and memory core as if he’d only just completed them. Staggering aimlessly, Blurr turned the reception on his glitching and energy-starved audial receiver up as high as he could. On this level of the planet it would only be a matter of time before something thought he looked tasty.

The wildlife of deeper Cybertron came in search of an easy kill only to find their own death at his hands.

By the time Blurr reached the lowest levels of Cybertron claimed by Iacon he was less than a shadow of the mech he’d been when he left, barely identifiable as an Autobot let alone a member of the Elite Guard. He was coated from helm to pede in filth, metal dust and rust caked with the fluids of his kills covering scratched enamel that was now definitely grey-blue instead of his old shiny azure.

Badly-healed wounds from the pursuit and his long trek to Iacon slowed him down, fuel from the tanks of mechanimals and one or two supremely unlucky Decepticon scouts had been barely enough to keep him online and moving in the direction of Iacon. There was almost nothing left over for self-repair, maintaining his colour nanites or higher thought processes.

Gaunt and almost entirely feral, Blurr hit the periphery of Metroplex’s massive EMF and stopped dead in his tracks. After spending what felt like eons clawing his solitary way though the bowels of Cybertron it took him several long klicks to realise what the metrotitan’s Field was and what it meant.

This was it.

This Field meant home.

Realising he’d been standing motionless in the open, Blurr scuttled sideways and his himself in the junction of several large power conduits that would mask his own faint energy signature.

Dim optics picked up no movement.

He heard nothing out of the ordinary for this level of Cybertron.

Passive-only scans picked up nothing.

Cycling his vents deeply, Blurr edged along the largest conduit, bringing himself fully into range of Metroplex’s EM Field.

Not close enough.

Gritting his denta, Blurr continued to force himself closer while every survival-honed instinct screamed at him to run.

 _Have to complete the mission_.

Before he could lose control of himself completely, Blurr pinged Metroplex’s comms with a specific coded message and settled down to wait as best he could. Every molecule of his frame was reacting to Metroplex as if the citiformer was a threat, some large predator that would snatch him up and devour him.

Given that his fears weren’t entirely unfounded, waiting within the sympathetic contact of that EM Field for his handler to arrive was almost more than Blurr could endure.

_Complete the mission._

So he waited.

He was hunger, he was cold, he was pain and he _waited_.

Contemplating those facts of his existence helped to counteract the urge to flee.

Blurr had drifted into a dreamlike half-offline state, almost dozing while he perched and waited in his hiding place below Metroplex. The distinctive thrum of a heavy engine brought him back to the closest thing to full awareness he was capable of. A crane-former moved along the road below, coming with easy comm range but not close enough to be a threat.

_::Who?::_

Almost savagely Blurr sent an Identity-request ping.

_::Autobot. Longarm Prime.::_

The crane transformed, unfolding into a stocky mech that turned to face Blurr’s general direction. The designation and ID codes that it broadcast back to him percolated slowly through Blurr’s starvation-slowed processors. Eventually the data connected with something.

_Longarm. Handler. Complete the mission._

Blurr slid closer along his pipe, requesting the establishment of a secure two-way commlink. The craneformer – _Longarm_ \- allowed Blurr the majority of control over encryption, as per protocol. Exchange of coded recognition phrases went smoothly and Blurr inched a little closer with every correct response from Longarm, eventually dropping to land smoothly in a crouch beside the shorter mech. Longarm didn’t even flinch at his sudden arrival, which was a good thing as in the state Blurr was he any sudden movements were interpreted as threats.

“Agent Blurr, welcome home.” Longarm said evenly, “I will escort you to medical, if that is alright?”

They stood in silence and it took Blurr a while to realise he was expected to respond verbally. He fumbled for a moment, resetting his vocaliser several times to ensure that it would work when he replied.

“Absolutely.” It was rough and hoarse, but the sounds were intelligible as speech.

Blurr pushed himself to his pedes, unthinkingly reaching out to steady himself with a hand against Lomgarm’s shoulder treads when his legs wobbled beneath him.

_Need fuel._

_Complete the mission._

The craneformer’s optics brightened and Blurr snatched his hand back when he realised what he was doing. He couldn’t figure out if it was good that he reached out for support while still this deep or if was an early warning sign that he was losing his edge. Longarm moved off and Blurr left worrying about his state for later. Rest and fuel were close, _so_ close. He followed his superior through the lower levels of Metroplex, taking a circuitous route to the medical level.

Blurr’s ability to concentrate came and went in waves. When his processor was clear he was able to piece together their journey and figured out that it was just twisty enough to soothe his active mission protocols but not long enough to strain his seriously depleted frame. Joints screamed with every step but he continued to move, watching for danger

His sense of Longarm’s EM Field also varied, and in his weaker moments Blurr had to fight the urge to pull that invisible protection around himself and burrow into it to hide. Longarm seemed to pick up on this; whenever Blurr began to reach towards the craneformer his Field would reach back, buzzing oddly and starting to cushion Blurr’s before snapping back again. The grey sections of his armour would clamp down whenever this happened, almost as if Longarm hadn’t realised what he was doing.

They met nobody, for which Blurr was extremely grateful. In the state he was in the Agent couldn't be trusted not to accidentally injure or offline a friend because he couldn’t control himself. This was why the random impulses to lean into Lonagarm’s Field confused and disturbed him so much.

He shouldn’t be reacting like this.

Not this deep in active mission protocols.

Certainly not this early in a partnership with a new handler. 

Perhaps the social meetings outside of work had accelerated the process?

Blurr forced himself to focus, dredging up energy from Primus-know-where. They were approaching the Medical wing and from past experience the Agent know he would need all his concentration to keep his tightly-wound reflexes under control. The medical team in Autobot Headquarters knew what to expect when dealing with operatives in his condition but Blurr really didn’t want to give them any excuse to keep him sedated and helpless for longer than absolutely necessary.

He let Longarm lead him to one of the private rooms, one he recognised from the pale grey walls as being one dedicated solely to dealing with the denizens of Intelligence and Special Operations. It was a cue that his training and experience associated with safety.

Longarm watched impassively as Blurr prowled the edges of the room, using the wall to keep himself upright. The Prime’s EM Field was absolutely neutral, radiating calm and patience which reinforced the message given by the soft grey walls and Metroplex’s inescapable electromagnetic presence.

_Safe. Home. Safe._

One circuit, two, three to make sure it was _absolutely_ safe and then Blurr stumbled, falling to his knees. Through blurring optics he saw Longarm flinch towards him and Blurr bared his denta in a snarl, his engine growling an unsteady warning. The craneformer froze, his forehelm sensor sparkling and something like confusion flashing across his faceplates. When he didn’t move for a long moment Blurr relaxed, drawing a deep inhalation through his vents and trying to unearth the full mechanics of verbal speech from his archives.

He hadn’t needed them in what felt like vorns.

“I… was delayed, Sir.” Blurr forced the words from an uncooperative vocaliser. It was harder than he remembered and for the first time in their acquaintance he spoke at a normal speed without forcing himself to slow down in order to do so. “A Decepticon patrol where they should not have been. I downloaded the intel and destroyed the dataslug. I was not compromised.”

It might have been a hallucination brought on by his state of starvation but Longarm seemed to inflate a little at the mention of Decepticons where they shouldn’t have been. Grey armour bristled and Longarm’s Field brushed Blurr with something icy cold before smoothing back into tranquillity. The Agent cycled his optics and everything returned to normal.

“I see.” The Prime said. “A full debriefing can wait until the Medics are happy with your condition. Unfortunately, the intel cannot.” With a wry smile he pulled a familiar make of dataslug from subspace and held it out to Blurr, allowing his arm to extend so he could place the dataslug on the floor within easy reach of Blurr’s hand. “If you please, Agent Blurr.”

Blurr watched the Prime’s arm retract. It was almost hypnotic, the way his mass reshaped itself seamlessly without even the slightest hint of effort. Not even the rare Triplechangers could transform that easily. Longarm could alter his form as easily as cycling his vents. As easily as Blurr outran every other mech alive.

_Mission. Complete the mission._

Training held firm. The Agent shook himself, dismissed an impending shutdown warning from his HUD and picked up the dataslug to inspect it thoroughly. Brand new, manufacturers seals still in place, Autobrand cast into the device in an unmistakable way. Safe.

_Complete the mission._

His hands weren’t strong enough to crack the layer of plastic sealing the device so Blurr bit it instead, worrying at the dataslug with his denta until he finally exposed the upload port. A single thin cable extended from his wrist and he had to use both hands to connect to the unused storage device. Downloading the data was a painfully slow process. Low power and immanent shutdown warning filled Blurr’s HUD faster than he could dismiss them as he directed the trickle of information from its protected hiding place deep within his cortex onto the dataslug.

When the download was finally over Blurr fumbled to disconnect, vaguely surprised to find himself sprawled facedown on the floor. The download had taken more energy than he thought; apparently he no longer had the power remaining to keep himself upright.

_Complete the mission._

Longarm retrieved the dataslug from Blurr’s limp hand and pressed some familiar and universally despised pellets into his hand. The small lumps of solidified, fortified medical-grade Energon said more than anything else that Blurr was home, he was safe and that he had completed the mission under his own power.

“Thank you, Agent Blurr.” Longarm’s voice came from somewhere vaguely overhead. “Mission complete.”

He made a vague noise in response, frame recognising the fuel in his hand and forcing him to place the bitter-tasting pellets in his oral cavity and swallow. It hurt to move but his frame would not be denied.

_Primus, I hate these things._

As soon as he consumed the last of the Energon Blurr heard the door open and the familiar voice of Red Alert filled his audials.

“What in the name of Unicron happened to him _this_ time?!” The medic demanded furiously.

_Home. I’m home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone take Blurr away from me. I am not a good parent to him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shockwave is nothing but dedicated to his job.  
> Both of his jobs, as it happens.

# Chapter 11

Once Blurr was safely in Red Alert’s capable hands Shockwave retreated to his office.

He hadn’t needed to rely on the Longarm persona as much as he usually would in order to project the appropriate emotional response to the situation. Blurr’s physical condition was absolutely appalling, triggering dormant instincts Shockwave had honestly never expected to experience again. That by itself would have been enough for the Longarm persona to draw from in order to show an authentic reaction, but to also hear that a Decepticon patrol to be anywhere near the route the Agent logged was so disturbing that the personality profile needed to do very little modification to his EMF.

After ensuring his office was locked with a ‘Do Not Disturb’ code Shockwave plugged the dataslug from Agent Blurr into his workstation. He immediately set a decryption program to work on the information it contained and was surprised to discover that the dataslug also contained a half-finished report on the circumstances surrounding the Agent’s delay.

Blurr must have worked on this report during the early stages of his capture, attempting to stave off boredom before it became absolutely necessary to conserve every microliter of fuel. Its inclusion with the mission data must have been an accident. Shockwave spent the time it took the decryption program to run perusing the unfinished document. Agent Blurr’s uncensored thoughts about his captors were entertaining and educational.

_I know those mecha. They should_ not _have been there_.

He would deal with them at a later date.

Firmly, Shockwave shoved down the Longarm profile’s unwarranted satisfaction at knowing the identity of Blurr’s attackers and examined the decoded data thoroughly. For now his mission had to be his primary focus; carefully feeding the Autobot High Command exactly what he wanted them to know without arousing suspicion.

_Our agents are almost in place._

Once his decision was made about what to include in the analysis for Autobot High Command Shockwave took a mental back seat and allowed the Longarm persona to take over the tedious work of drafting his report.

He was navigating a complicated maze of truth and deception, honestly loving it with every molecule of his being. If Shockwave couldn’t indulge himself in the intricacies of science and exploring the very building blocks of reality then at least he had his second love, the Great Game of espionage and intrigue.

The data analysis and his initial report took several days to compile. By the time Shockwave was ready for a break he received a comm from Medical to notify him that Agent Blurr was physically strong enough to be debriefed. He allowed the Longarm persona to carry out the debriefing while Shockwave himself studied every nuance of Blurr’s frame language and Field. There had been something… _odd_ about the way Blurr had reacted while Shockwave had been bringing him in. For the life of him the Decepticon couldn’t come up with a hypothesis as to what it was.

Blurr had been quick to trust him; even quicker once within range of Shockwave’s EMF. As for Shockwave himself, he was still examining the reaction he’d had to Blurr at the time. It almost seemed to have gone beyond simply maintaining his cover. Fuelled by or even fuelling what the Longarm persona felt regarding the Velocitronian mech and coming dangerously close to actual sentiment.

Shockwave couldn’t find a trace whatever it had inspired the reaction now.

Blurr was composed, and while he wasn’t exactly _cheerful_ the Agent seemed to be in fairly good spirits. He was participating in the debrief while swathed in a cocoon of heating tarpaulins, perched on the edge of the berth in the same neutral grey room Shockwave had escorted him to some days previously. Shockwave had brought some disgustingly sweet Velocitronian candies and the package sat beside Blurr, an odd spot of normality in the decidedly abnormal world of the Intelligence Service.

First Aid was already making upset noises about the speed of Blurr’s recovery; she claimed that Blurr should be regaining protomass at a much faster rate than he currently was. Further upset noises were directed at complications related to his timing glitch and the modifications that turned it into an asset. Many of Blurr’s non-priority systems -including his active EMF projection and reception systems- had been disengaged in an attempt to reduce the racer-frame’s energy consumption and free up more fuel and minerals for his self-repair to use.

Hence the Velocitronian candies. Not only would their high energy content and the mineral additives they contained would help restore the mass lost to starvation during his last mission, they would help ground the Agent and bring him back to healthy psychological functioning that much faster.

Even Shockwave felt that subsisting on nothing but heavily fortified medical-grade for any length of time was detrimental to a mech’s mental health.

“Thank-you-for-bringing-the-candies,Longarm-Prime-Sir.” Blurr said once the official debrief was finished, fidgeting with the edge of one of the heating tarps. “The-amount-of-medgrade-they-are-forcing-me-to-drink-is- _ridiculous_. And-it-tastes-absolutely-awful.”

“It is no trouble at all, Agent Blurr.” The Longarm persona inserted a smile and used warm subglyphs. “While medgrade is indeed nutritious it does leave one longing for a little flavour.”

The Agent shivered and pulled the tarp cocoon tighter around his frame, his pauldrons creating the impression of articulated wings folded behind his frame.

“They-are-going-to-start-dimming-the-lights-in-here-this-night-cycle-to-see-how-I-handle-the-dark.” Blurr changed the subject apparently at random, something Shockwave was used to by now.

There was a look in the Agent’s optics the Longarm persona helpfully described as ‘haunted’.

“You seem to have reservations about this, Agent Blurr.” Shockwave observed, tilting his helm to better focus his true optic on the speedster. “You know it must be done.”

“I- _know_ -that-I-must-be-reconditioned-to-accept-darkness-without-going-feral,Sir.” Blurr spat contemptuously. Both Longarm and Shockwave were proud of the liveliness of their Agent’s reaction. “I-would-like-to-return-to-my-quarters-within-Metroplex-as-soon-as-I-can-and-I- _know_ -what-needs-to-be-done-for-that-to-happen.However-knowing-does- _not_ -mean-that-I-look-forward-to-the-process.”

Longarm’s dry chuckle startled Blurr and he shot the disguised Decepticon a suspicious look.

“I am _very_ glad to see the progress you are making, Agent Blurr.” It was a decidedly odd feeling to use fond and amused subglyphs and actually feel something more than cool calculation behind their selection. “Is there anything I might bring from your quarters to make the darkness easier for you to endure without backsliding?”

It was gratifying to see the Agent give it genuine thought. Shockwave studied the expressions flitting across Blurr’s faceplates, committing them to memory for future analysis.

“May-I-have-the-blankets-from-my-berth?” Blurr shuffled awkwardly, “They-are-familiar-and-not-associated-with-anything-besides-saftey-and-rest.Also-I-am-Still-rather-cold-even-with-these-and-RedAlert-refuses-to-give-me-any-more-from-Medical’s-supply.”

The medic on duty pinged Longarm’s comm frequency, notifying him that post-debrief socialising time was officially up. Shockwave nodded in response to Blurr’s request, rising carefully to his pedes. It would not do to stumble in front of the Agent. Blurr remained where he was, huddled in his heating tarps.

“I shall see what I can do, Agent Blurr. Do I have your permission to enter your quarters to acquire them?” The Longarm persona asked, using courteous subglyphs.

“Yes-Sir!” Agent Blurr looked overjoyed, his optics flashing brightly.

“Very well then. I shall see you tomorrow.” Shockwave inclined his helm and left Blurr to his evening.

The Decepticon filled his EMF with a solid wall of ‘Busy, do not engage’ as he returned to Longarm Prime’s office.

It was time to find out why that particular Decepticon patrol had been so far from their assigned sector.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blurr gets his solitary frisk on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally intended to be Chapter 4... THEN THIS FIC GOT A BIT OUT OF CONTROL. OOPS.  
> So... yeah. This was actually the second sticky I ever wrote, first self-service and first thing even remotely 'normal' (as in no obvious indulgence of weird kinks) and I'm only getting around to posting it now.  
> Life is weird sometimes.  
> Playlist for this chapter can ebe found [here](http://adhesivesandscrap.tumblr.com/post/121711443566/in-plain-sight-chapter-12-playlist).

# Chapter 12

Blurr walked briskly through the halls to his small suite of rooms within the Intelligence Service complex in Metroplex. During his early days in Iacon Mystère made it absolutely clear that the Agent was expected to spend his post-mission cooldown period within these rooms, instead of returning to his own apartment.

A fond smile crossed pale faceplates as Blurr remembered the spectacular argument he’d had with his previous Handler and Superior Officer over the issue. The smile earned him some odd looks from other mechs in the corridors, but he didn’t care. Blurr was allowed to leave the grey-walled recovery room and return to his own space; he was _allowed_ to smile.

Mystère. That crazy fragger had actually _mag-locked Blurr to a chair_ for a lecture on Metrotitans and _then_ forced him to have a long and awkward discussion with Metroplex. Blurr hadn’t realised just how badly he was unintentionally hurting the Cityformer by insisting on living outside in Iacon. Of course he hadn’t been able to tell Metroplex the _real_ reasons he needed the apartment, but playing up his discomfort with ‘using’ another mech’s frame in such a way and the need for at least the _appearance_ of work/life separation when family came to visit had done the job. Eventually they’d compromised and now the racer and the Metrotitan got along fairly well.

It was still mid-shift, so the Intelligence Service Residence Corridor was deserted as Blurr reached his door and input the access code the Citiformer had databurst to him upon his release from Medical.

“Welcome back, Blurr.” Metroplex’s voice greeted Blurr as he entered the main room of his suite.

“Thankyou, Metroplex,” Blurr responded, glad he didn’t have to slow his natural rate of speech, “It’s-good-to-be-back. Thankyou-for-keeping-these-rooms-for-me.”

“It was no problem,” The Citiformer said as Blurr stretched luxuriously, revelling in the Flightframe-height ceilings and elevated atmospheric temperature of the room. “You know I would not allow someone else to move in unless I had concrete proof of your deactivation.”

Blurr’s plating clamped down to protect what it could of his vulnerable protoform and he shuddered at the reminder of his near-disastrous mission. Despite complete repairs and a tank full of medical-grade Energon, the spy still ached with phantom pain and the protoform atrophy brought on by starvation.

“I’m sorry; I did not mean to bring back bad memories.” Metroplex said when he caught the racer’s reaction.

“It’s-alright-Metroplex-I-know-you-didn’t-mean-too,” Blurr hurried to soothe the Citiformer before the deeply nurturing being overreacted and contacted the psych team, “Please-don’t. I-I-just-got-back-and-the-memories-are-still-very-fresh. We-are-trained-in-how-to-deal-with-the-aftermath-of-missions-that-go-wrong, it-just-takes-a-little-time. I-will-be-fine-in-a-decaorn-or-so.”

While the Metrotitan processed Blurr’s words against his core programming to protect those who resided within his frame, the Agent headed for his berthroom after giving the main room a cursory scan to see if any of the discreet monitoring devices had been moved. An Agent’s quarters were their safe haven, the place where they could do anything they needed to in order to stay sane but their vital signs were carefully tracked so that if they needed any form of help it would arrive as soon as possible.

“I understand.” Metroplex’s reply came as Blurr opened his berthroom door. “Do you require anything to help you recharge?”

“No-thank-you-Metroplex,” The Agent responded, eyeing the augmented pile of thermal blankets on the berth. “It-was-very-kind-of-you-to-offer. And-thank-you-for-ordering-the-extra-covers. They-will-be-very-helpful.”

“It wasn’t me who ordered them,” The Citiformer still sounded pleased by the thanks, “It was Longarm Prime. He knows that racer frames tend to run cool; and you more than most. He thought it would be wise for you to have more during your recovery.”

“Oh-I-see,” Blurr twitched. “Anyway-pleasant-recharge-to-you-Metroplex.”

“Pleasant recharge to you as well, Blurr.”

Blurr slid the berthroom door shut behind him with a sigh, subtle tension leaving his frame

The racer’s engine grumbled as he eyed the neat stack of thick thermal blankets placed conspicuously on the end of his berth. Resisting the urge to dive into the middle of the thick padding and enjoy the ability to lie on something softer than the ground or a medberth, Blurr sat beside the pile of new coverings. Mechs of his frametype, with their super-efficient cooling systems tended to become cold very quickly if they weren’t moving around enough for their systems to generate excess heat to keep them warm. Blurr had it worse than most, as his armour wasn’t thick enough to support additional insulation.

Absently running his fingers down the side of the pile, Blurr was startled by the sensations his tactile sensors returned.

Thick, vaguely squashy and _definitely_ brand new.

Blurr stood and unfolded the blankets, tossing them onto the berth. As they settled he wondered how in the Pit they’d gotten in here. Had Metroplex’s caretaker drones delivered them or one of the Intelligence Service aides dropped them off?

Maybe Longarm himself had stopped by? Probably not. Even with Blurr’s permission to enter his quarters to collect the blankets he’d brought to the medical ward it was much more likely that Longarm had gotten Metroplex to retrieve them and preserve the impression of privacy the suite afforded.

Despite this Blurr still flushed and his engine gave an unconscious rev at the idea of Longarm Prime here, in his berthroom.

_Pit_.

Trying to escape the images rising unbidden in his processor, Blurr flicked the lights off and crawled onto the berth. He burrowed into the nest of blankets, sighing happily as they trapped heat and _finally_ allowed him to feel comfortably warm. The extra blankets were _perfect_ ; he’d have to thank Longarm.

Thoughts of the Prime drew another unintentional noise from Blurr’s engine, accompanied this time by a surge of cyan lighting within the little nest and warmth behind his interface panels.

Blurr sat straight up, tossing covers away and cursing out his ex-Superior under his breath.

Slagging. _Mystère_.

That sneaky, conniving glitch knew EXACTLY what she was doing she suggested Longarm Prime provide a metaphorical (and sometimes literal) shoulder for Blurr instead of turning him over to the Psych department. The Prime was definitely what Blurr found attractive, and the ex-Head of Intelligence would have known it. They’d discussed their interfacing conquests often enough for Mystère to know _exactly_ what made Blurr’s pistons fire.

Longarm Prime fulfilled so many of Blurr’s criteria he wasn’t sure if he wanted to punch the cunning femme or hug her.

The additional debrief Blurr had just endured after being declared medically stable enough to recover in his suite had almost been like some weird kind of torture. Sensors still on edge, systems thrumming and ready to _move_ in case of attack with nowhere to go and nothing else to respond to in the small interview room except Longarm Prime himself, Blurr had become so painfully aware of his physical attraction to the mech and the slowly growing infatuation from their conversations that he’d not known what to do with himself.

Pacing had kept his optics off Longarm, but now there wasn’t anything to distract Blurr from the mental images that kept him from settling down into recharge.

A particularly nice memory–specifically that of Longarm’s mouth wrapping around that nitrogen-chilled Energon Pole- floated before Blurr’s optics, creating an unmistakable stir behind his spike panel.

_Slag it all to the_ Pit!

Next time Blurr laid optics on Mystère he was going to immobilise the glitched little pitspawn and put her in the public gardens in Praxus for the Crystal Cockatoos to void their waste tanks on.

He gave up, knowing that if he tried to recharge while having little fantasies like this he'd just wake up with a sticky, messy berth. Blasting an unnecessarily heavy exhalation from his vents, Blurr wriggled out of his tangle of berth coverings to sprawl propped against them, legs spread comfortably.

Allowing his optical input to dim, Blurr focused his attention on the delightful, impossible fantasies that had been plaguing him since the moment he laid optics on his new superior officer.

Pale fingers caressed his thoracic armour, tracing the sensitive veins where the very matter of his being would fold during transformation, defying Euclidian physics to reshape itself. In his mind’s eye it was not the blunt, talonless digits of his Cybertronian form that caressed him; instead it was the large, strong hands of Longarm Prime, miraculously equipped with elegant, heavy claws.

The image drew a purr from the racer-frame’s engine and a corresponding cyan surge from his biolights. He didn’t dare risk the partial transformation to release his own claws here inside Metroplex, but his current state of recovery post-mission made his transformation seams so exquisitely snesitive that it was easy for Blurr to conjure up the illusion of his Superior looming over him, tantalizing him with _very_ gentle claw strokes.

Oh how Blurr would _love_ to have that heavy frame over his. Longarm pinning him, protecting him, _claiming_ him for his own. The blue mech moaned, arching up under the touch of his own hands as the image of Longarm above him had both spike and valve covers shooting open with a graceless _click-clack_. A breathless giggle set a new tempo for Blurr’s biolights as impatient hands moved down, quickly skimming over the wasted protoform of his lower torso to circle spike housing. His panels hadn’t made a sound like _that_ since his first interface!

It really was a pity that Longarm had no helm fins or audio horns, Blurr reflected as his hands began teasing patterns around his spike housing, avoiding the painfully pressurised organ while occasionally slipping lower to flick the engorged outer folds of his valve. He knew it was his Syngnathi preferences speaking, but the Prime would look really slagging _hot_ with something strong to balance out that strange sensory kibble that guarded his jaw. What if Blurr just took his mental picture of Longarm and put that jaw guard on top of his head, like a handle . . . ?

Claspers unfolded in a rush to greet questing fingers as the racer’s high-performance engine came close to redlining. Oh _yes_ , Longarm with a slagging _hand-grip_ on his head so the Agent could _grab_ him and force his Superior’s head down and that lovely wide mouth would _open,_ glossa just peeking out, and. . .

Blurr gasped, vents wide and panting as he made a loose fist around the head of his spike with one hand while the other stayed motionless, letting his claspers spread lubricant over it while they explored and stroked over the black-and-white dermal metal.

Having someone suck his spike was the _best_ thing about this form. It was _so_ worth the hassle. Few were willing to dare the claspers to go for his valve, but Blurr didn’t really blame them. It just felt _weird_ for the Ovaria when his claspers had nothing to grab; a distraction that made it hard to get off.

When the hand at his valve was slippery enough, Blurr gently pulled it away and placed it at the head of his spike, the one that had been absently playing with the short shaft sliding down to run through his outer folds, collecting lubrication before it could fall to the berth. Fully prepared, the Ovaria sighed cooling air through his vents and immersed himself completely in his fantasy.

Optics drifted offline as Blurr conjured the memory file of Longarm with the Energon Pole, mentally replacing the Velocitronian candy with his spike. Biolights surged unheeded as the head of Blurr’s spike pressed slowly into his slippery fist, engine revving hard as he imagined Longarm’s lips parting, mouth moving inexorably downwards.

Blurr slid two fingers through the folds of his valve, sliding through the slippery flaps and gently playing with seeking claspers while the other hand worked nimbly over his spike, picturing Longarm’s glossa flicking out to taste the lubricant Blurr could feel trailing down towards his aft plating.

A long moan rolled from Blurr’s open, panting mouth and his head slammed back; streamlined helm impaling the pile of berth coverings behind him. Engine roaring, the Ovaria felt his claspers wrap firmly around his wrist, tugging until his fingers were seated firmly, knuckle-deep in the waiting valve.

With how keyed-up he had been before starting this, Blurr knew he wasn’t going to last long.

He couldn’t find it within himself to care.

Both hands began moving urgently, stroking and thrusting in counterpoint to send surges of bliss tingling through his frame. His optics onlined without his conscious command and the Agent stared unseeingly up at the ceiling, pursuing overload with single-minded determination. Cyan biolighting lit the entire room; zaps of electricity discharging across blue plating strobing through the soft background glow.

Pure lust surged through the Agent as he imagined the wet noises coming from his pelvic array were caused by Longarm; strong frame crouched between his spread legs and hidden from sight by the way the racer had gotten his head stuck in the berth coverings.

Moaning, Blurr as he slammed his fist down over his aching spike and simultaneously jabbed four fingers deep into his saturated valve. Heat poured from his frame as his claspers began to milk his wrist as if it were a Cybertronian spike or Syngnathi aedeagus that was bringing him such pleasure.

_Longarm Prime’s_ spike, likely just as thick as an aedeagus but with those _lovely_ little ridges that would catch on Blurr’s valve nodes just _there_.

Blurr’s frame stiffened as the image of Longarm thrusting into his valve sent him careening into overload, voicing a garbled shriek that might have been “ _oh frAGYES_!” combined with Longarm’s designation.

Claspers clamped down, forcing pale digits deeper into his valve and holding them there while silver-white fluid erupted from his spike to splash over black abdominal plating, glittering in the dual flare from biolighting and the discharge of excess electrical current jumping across his frame.

Properly sated for the first time since that catastrophic mission began, Blurr stayed coherent just long enough to wipe the mess from his berth and frame with the ruined blanket (One of the new ones from Longarm. Oops) and crawl back into the pile of blankets before falling into exhausted recharge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Each Syngnath has a feature of their Syngnathi frame they can't fully hide in Cybertronian form. (They are basically triplechangers but not TRUE triplechangers, so the disguise has it's flaws) It's usually something like the horns or claws, something that doesn't look out-of-place. Blurr is odd with his timing glitch and being unable to hide the claspers. He passes them off as a kinky colonial valve mod.  
> ~Yes, that is the same Mystère who is tormenting Drift and Wing in Tenebris. She's a bitch, but she is extremely professional. Gotta keep the assets functional.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An extremely frustrated and stir-crazy Blurr gets some good news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally supposed to be chapter five. Then I decided to actually WRITE the mission-that-went-bad and thing got a little out of control.
> 
> Thank you so very, very much to the person who nudged this fic. I'm sorry it took me so long to finish+post this chapter :(

# Chapter Thirteen

 

Two full decaorns later Blurr _still_ hadn’t been released from medical confinement to the Intelligence Service complex within Metroplex.

It was driving the Agent steadily up the wall.

The impossibly fragged-up mission that had landed him in this _intolerable_ situation was only the third he’d undertaken under the command of Longarm Prime, and for some unknown reason his Superior seemed to feel guilty about this, as if he was somehow responsible.

In fact, Longarm seemed to take the unanticipated Decepticon complication personally, blaming _himself_ for putting Blurr in the situation. He apologised every other day and checked in with Blurr every time a report from First Aid crossed his desk.

Listening to that kind of carry-on on top of being under house arrest was more than Blurr could take. The previous orn he’d finally snapped, getting so fed up with Longarm that he’d told him in the smallest Cybertronian words possible –in the middle of the Ops and Intel cafeteria, no less- that this misplaced guilt was bordering on irrational as _nobody_ could have known that the Decepticon patrol was there. He hadn’t even hung around long enough to take an image capture of the unflattering look of astonishment on Longarm’s faceplates before storming off to lock himself in his quarters and scream into his pile of blankets.

Metroplex hadn’t commented on this, which was wise as Blurr was so angry he probably would have sworn at the Cityformer, too and jeopardised their still-tenuous relationship.

The Agent would doubtless be facing disciplinary action for his outburst in the cafeteria but at the moment he was simply too fragged off to care.

_And if I see one more cube of that_ disgusting _medical-grade I’m going to disassemble someone._

Right now Blurr was lying on the couch in his quarters, glaring up at the ceiling and counting the breems until he was due in medical for _yet_ _another_ series of tests and scans. His frame and protomass weren’t recovering from the effects of starvation as fast the Medics liked. Of course _Blurr_ knew exactly what was wrong, but there was no way he could tell them the truth without being interrogated and vivisected and placing everyone he knew in danger of the same. He flicked at the slowly thickening armour of his forearm and sighed when he felt the sting through the too-thin covering, wondering how much longer this was going to take.

_Too much strain too soon._

Blurr’s engine snarled and he kicked at the arm of the couch, cursing the Decepticons in several languages.

As well as prompting her replacement to socialise with Blurr, Mystère had _obviously_ left instructions for Longarm to keep the racer-frame to ‘simple’ observation and courier jobs for a certain amount of time after he returned from a ‘holiday’. Supposedly he was still mentally fragile, and while that _was_ true to some extent it was mainly because the cycle of heat and laying did a number on his systems, leaving him easily tired for megacycles afterwards.

If this had happened in another couple of megacycles Blurr would have been recovering at almost the same rate as a Cybertronian of his apparent mass; maybe a little bit slower but not so much so that he couldn’t blame it on complications created by his mods and the timing glitch that let him use them. As it was, the Ovaria’s shocked systems were struggling to engage in post-laying recovery _as well as_ replacing all the mass he’d lost to starvation in that Primus-forsaken hole and during his trek back to HQ.

As a Syngnath, Blurr had a much greater total mass than a Cybertronian racer of his frametype should; the excess was pleated safely into subspace where it couldn’t betray him. More mass to loose; more mass to make up. Blurr held his hands out and examined them critically. They were still noticeably wasted, the exocovering dull and scuffed-looking as most of his fuel and additives were still going into mass restoration after the basic needs of his frame were met. There was just nothing left for anything even remotely cosmetic.

_Why the frag did this happen now? Why couldn’t it just have gone normally?_

_Normally_ everything went fine. Normally Blurr did the easy missions, recovered and got onto the more challenging and interesting ones.

Except _now_ the universe seemed to hate him. _Now_ Blurr was locked up inside a Metrotitan until the Medics were happy with his physical condition. He was banned from running and driving tracks and thus going slowly insane from boredom and inactivity. The added bonus of close proximity to his devastatingly attractive Cybertronian boss was counteracted by Medics who were becoming irritated with his sluggish rate of recovery, muttering and poking their sensor suites further into Blurr’s medical files than was healthy for him.

A grumpy Medic was a dangerous Medic. This counted triple for Intelligence and Special Operations Medics. Blurr didn’t _dare_ risk angering them any further by so much as wandering around inside Metroplex, doing slow laps of the halls to stretch his legs.

It made the Agent want to scream.

Checking the chronometer brought no relief to his boredom. Even at his slowest pace he would still make it down to the medical wing with so much time to spare before his appointment he would simply get threatened with a sedative for fidgeting. Back on Velocitron the Medics were used to racers and would quietly pass out concentrated energon crystals to replace the fuel burned by fidgeting, saving their sedatives for the truly anxious.

_I’m going home for my next cycle. I_ have _to._

Blurr sighed and wrapped his arms over his chest, trying to squash a sudden surge of homesickness. His heat cycles had always been erratic, useful for covering his tracks but awful in that they could be anywhere from a decavorn to several centuries apart, and there was no way for him to tell how long the reprieve would be this time, not until his frame started producing that first faint trace of chemical aerosols that _announced the onset of his heat._

_Then it’s time to ‘Bridge back to Velocitron and see who’s interested…_

Thoughts of home and vague plans for his next heat cycle lulled the Ovaria into a light doze, his frame forcing him to rest and conserve energy despite the amount of fuel he was consuming.

Ever helpful, Metroplex woke Blurr with plenty of time to make it to the medical wing for his appointment. Blurr thanked the Cityformer politely and walked to the Ops and Intel medical wing as slowly as he physically could, but he was still early enough to be greeted with a scan and frown from the on-duty nursebot who directed Blurr to a chair and forced some pellets into his hand.

Blurr groaned when the distinctive bitterness of the fortified medical-grate hit his chemoreceptors.

“First Aid will be here in a minute.” The solidly-built nursebot said, looming over the seated racer. “You get those in your tank _before_ she does and ‘Aid won’t force-feed them to you.”

Blurr glared but did as commanded, the nursebot waited just long enough to ensure that he consumed the fuel before turning and heading briskly for the door.

“Don’t-I-at-least-get-a-rust-stick-to-get-the-taste-off-my-glossa?” Blurr demanded snarkily of the nursebot’s tread-covered back.

“You’re a grown mech, you can handle it.” The nursebot called back and disappeared.

“ _Aft_. What-crawled-up- _his_ -tailpipe-and-died?” Blurr muttered rhetorically, sinking down in his seat and scowling at the door the nursebot had left through.

“Don’t mind Forceps, someone had a nasty flashback this morning. They purged on Force’ then punched him out during it.” First Aid said by way of greeting and Blurr felt the medic’s scan sweeping over his frame, “Not the best way to start your first day in our end of the medical wing.”

The medic beckoned Blurr so he stood and followed obediently, deliberately matching his steps to First Aid’s until they were in the exam room. Everything went smoothly so far as the Agent could tell, although the medic was frowning by the end of it.

“So-what’s-the-verdict?” Blurr asked, “Can-I-go-do-some-laps-before-I-lose-my-mind?”

As usual, First Aid ignored Blurr’s plea and entered her findings on a medical datapad. Eventually she looked up and pinned the fidgety racer-frame with a frustrated look.

“The medics on Velocitron can make that decision.” First Aid said. “You progress has plateaued and I am recommending that you complete your recovery in the care of medics who deal with your frametype and modification set on a regular basis. It would also do your mental state no end of good, as I’m aware that it has been quite some time since you last visited home. The official order will be on Longarm Prime’s desk before the end of the shift.”

It took longer than it should for the meaning of First Aid’s words to process.

When Blurr finally understood what First Aid had said he embarrassed both of them by degenerating into grateful sobbing that only stopped when the medic sedated him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finishing up this fic so I can get to the two planned for afterwards in this timeline is one of my mid-term goals. I have missed working on this fic SO FUCKING MUCH.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Longarm is a Good Boss and Shockwave is a Massive Creep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to have this up a few days ago but editing everything into mostly passive-voice for Shaockwave's detached observer nature drives me up the wall -.-'  
> So: happy new year! Let's see if I can get this fic finished before it turns 2 years old XD

# Chapter Fourteen

 

While Shockwave derived a great deal of entertainment from viewing a recording of Blurr’s meltdown, the Longarm personality profile was quite disturbed by the homesickness and psychological instability implied by the Agent’s outburst. The profile seemed to think that despite not knowing the racer-frame overly well it still should have somehow been able to detect that the Agent was this disturbed.

Irrelevant, futile and frustrating as such maunderings were, Shockwave could also feel something prodding him from deep within his core coding; something that insisted there existed a certain… familiarity to Blurr’s condition.

It was utter nonsense, of course. Nothing but a revival of long-dormant coding that was making wild extrapolations from flimsy evidence. Nothing more than that.

Having to authorise medical leave for the Velocitronian was a minor annoyance, but it would give Shockwave the opportunity to carry out the planned examination of Blurr’s quarters that had been delayed by the Agent’s unexpected return.

Two days and a course of tranquilisers later, Blurr was released from medical to pack, First Aid’s report on the matter landing on Longarm’s desk within an hour of the racer-frame’s discharge. After reading and logging the report Shockwave had to spend several hours resisting insistent prodding from the Longarm profile to pay a visit to the Agent.

Eventually he capitulated, as it would be an excellent chance to probe the distracted Agent for more information.

_First; a query for the medics_.

By the time he had convinced First Aid to allow Blurr out of Metroplex for a short time it was almost too late in the day for a social call to be entirely casual. Still, Shockwave judged that the infatuation he had been carefully cultivating meant that his presence at this time in the cycle wouldn’t be taken amiss. Armed with appropriate clearance and a cube of medical grade stowed in subspace Shockwave finally gave the Longarm profile what it wanted by bending his steps towards Agent Blurr’s quarters.

It was a very short wait from Metroplex announcing his presence to the Velocitronian Agent and Blurr opening the door. The haste was extremely gratifying, as was the expression on Blurr’s faceplates. It was one that brought a sense of satisfaction to Shockwave while the emotional subroutines of the Longarm personality reported an unusually strong positive reaction. Shockwave was given no time to analyse this potentially troublesome development as a fidgety Blurr invited him into his quarters with a flurry of words that even Shockwave’s upgraded processors had difficulty comprehending.

A warily hesitant offer of a supervised trip to the reclusive Agent’s Iacon-based apartment –ostensibly to pick up personal effects for his medical leave- was greeted with enthusiasm that not even the necessity of consuming yet more of the detested medical grade energon could dull.

For a moment it almost seemed like Blurr was about to throw his arms around Longarm’s sturdy form in an excess of gratitude. Shockwave wasn’t sure how to parse his tangled reactions when Blurr controlled himself and asked for the medical grade so they could leave as soon as possible. It was worryingly difficult to tell which reaction threads were being generated by his own coding and which were reactions from the Longarm profile.

Shockwave resolved to run a thorough analysis and possible re-partitioning of his processors as soon as was feasible, making a note in his processors as he watched Blurr down the medical grade with a theatrical shudder of disgust. The Longarm profile fixated on the way Blurr’s faceplates scrunched up at the taste while Shockwave was more interested in the placement of pale fingers on the thin plasma membrane of the cube and the flex of throat cabling as the Velocitronian swallowed.

[Query:Altered descriptor. Subject Blurr= Captivating?/ **NEGATIVE. REATAIN CURRENT**.]

As Blurr dissipated the empty cube Shockwave made his decision. The Agent followed obediently behind Longarm’s bulky form as they walked sedately out of Metroplex, Shockwave upgrading the internal priority marker for his planned defragmentation and analysis to the highest he had available. If his resurgent coding was going to continue throwing minor irritations at him then he’d have no choice but to eliminate the Agent long before he was done amusing himself with him. He simply couldn’t afford any distraction from his mission. If entertaining himself by toying with Blurr threatened to become a liability to his mission then Shockwave would simply have to forego the pleasure.

_If it_ does _become necessary to eliminate him I will ensure time to question him thoroughly before extinguishing his spark._

Traffic was light and they made excellent time despite both the Longarm profile and Shockwave restricting their travelling pace to the slowest possible permitted in the public lanes. He expected the racer-frame to chafe at this but Blurr was surprisingly docile; sedately keeping to the pace Shockwave set as the twang of cabin fever slowly left his Field, replaced with a relief the Agent wasn’t shy about projecting.

The kind of apartment building Blurr had chosen to live in was precisely the type Shockwave would have chosen himself; defensible and secure in the extreme with security measures that only the truly paranoid would take issue with. While it _would_ be possible for someone of Shockwave's skill to break in, he would have great difficulty doing so undetected.

A complement about the choice of residence was received with a flush of pride and embarrassment and a flood of words about how Blurr’s Velocitronian Seeker friend had called him paranoid. It was laughably easy to put Blurr’s embarrassment to rest with a few words about those who weren’t of the world of Intelligence and Special Operations, the enclosed space of the elevator cabin allowing Shockwave to better analyse the racer-frame’s Field without being detected.

_That is an unusual level of nervousness; perhaps not so unusual with the infatuation._

He didn’t expect Blurr’s Field to react so positively to the subtle intrusion, almost welcoming as Shockwave tested and analysed and the racer-frame carried out his own gentle testing in return. Shockwave knew his EMF control was beyond exceptional and with the added protection of the Longarm personality profile influencing what he projected there was no chance of Agent Blurr picking up anything untoward. Not even if his no-longer-dormant coding chose that moment to act up.

Agent Blurr gave him a brief, blushing tour of his apartment. Shockwave rolled his disguise’s optics at the inevitable pile of blankets on the berth. When left to his own devices while the racer-frame collected what he wished to take with him and tidied the place suitable for a long absence Shockwave inspected the few ornaments and holographs of Velocitron with which Blurr had chosen to decorate the main living area of his apartment and also perused the contents of a small fuel preparation counter – on that was amply stocked with jet highgrade.

The contents of Blurr’s fuel preparation area was interesting; Shockwave studied it while the Longarm profile decided to prepare a cube of the jet highgrade with additives to counteract the energy loss Blurr would undoubtedly experience as a result of all his fidgeting and nervous twitches. Certain additives would help it burn slower, bolstering the Agent’s systems without producing an intoxicating rush of energy and Longarm added the more flavourful of those. Something both Shockwave and the Longarm profile agreed on was that the only thing worse than the taste of medgrade was the _after_ taste it left in your oral cavity.

_His frametype requires more than one cube of this potency to become impaired_.

The sight of certain additives surprised Shockwave a little and he found himself reaching for control of his disguised form, putting together an extremely dilute cube for himself with several of those additives from Blurr’s stores he knew that his own systems required. They weren’t uncommon, but Syngnathi required larger amounts of these particular metals than a Cybertronian of similar mass and Shockwave had been going short on them in order to maintain his disguise. Some of these additives also found their way into the cube he was preparing for Blurr; they would work well with what had already been added and as the Agent was still restoring lost mass he would also require larger amounts than normal.

“Longarm-Prime,Sir?” Blurr’s voice came from right behind Shockwave and the Decepticon would have flinched if he hadn’t been in the process of handing full frame control back to the Longarm profile. “Sir,what-are-you-doing?”

_I didn’t hear him. Was I too distracted or is it the floor covering muffling his pedes?_

The question could have been rude but Blurr’s Field held nothing but polite formality and curiosity. Shockwave distracted himself from his internal fretting by carefully monitoring the partitions between himself and the Longarm profile as it picked up both cubes, turning to face Agent Blurr and offering the one prepared for the racer-frame with a diffident smile.

“I saw your additives and took the liberty of preparing something that may taste a little better than medical grade.” He said. The smile Longarm gave the racer-frame might have held more warmth than Shockwave felt was necessary. “It would be remiss of me to return you to Metroplex with an energy deficit. I do not want First Aid to lose what little faith she apparently has in my good sense.”

It was an eminently logical statement and Blurr didn’t question Longarm’s actions as he took the cube, sampling it carefully and swallowing long before his chemoreceptors could have possibly reported the presence of any of the contaminants Ops and Intel were trained detect; sedatives, poisons, or the more common chemicals that could render a mech compliant and suggestible that Shockwave could very easily have slipped into the energon before Blurr approached.

_Silly Autobot, so trusting._

The fact that he could have so easily spiked Blurr’s cube and still _hadn’t_ registered as slightly off to Shockwave, but he immediately dismissed the minor concern. That was definitely an idea for another time, possible after carefully soliciting a repeat of this situation a few more times to lower the Velocitronain’s guard further, but the shine in Blurr’s optics and the particular curve of his lipplates made it well worth missing the opportunity to interrogate the racer-frame. Not that he could do it right now without First Aid picking up residue of all but the most delicate compounds in the many daily tests and scans the medic was running.

_I shall have to do it when he_ isn’t _under close medical supervision_.

“Thank-you-Sir-it’s-really-good.” Blurr said, taking a deeper and more enthusiastic draught.

“I also made one for myself.” Shockwave said, holding up the paler-coloured cube. “I hope you don’t mind. You have some additives I haven’t seen in a while; they don’t seem to be to the taste of many Autobots and I don’t get outside of Metroplex much anymore to acquire some for myself.”

Blurr smiled and sat on a long, padded bench that seemed out of place in a groundframe’s home, until Shockwave recalled that Blurr was close friends with a Seeker. Jealousy flared in the Longarm profile’s emotional response subroutines, puzzling Shockwave with the strength of the reaction.

“It’s-alright-Sir.” The racer-frame said as Shockwave savoured a mouthful of his own cube, noting with amusement the way that Blurr’s optics homed in on his mouthplates. “N-next-time-I-go-shopping-I-c-can-get-you-some-if-you-give-me-a-list-of-what-you-want.It-wouldn’t-be-a-problem-at-all.”

A precisely calculated self-effacing smile and a slight shake of his helm once again had Blurr eating out of Shockwave’s metaphorical hand.

“It is very kind of you to offer, but I couldn’t impose upon you.” Shockwave demurred. “If you would be so kind as to give me the address of the vendor you acquired them from I will make the time to get them myself. In fact I probably should, if First Aid isn’t to make good on her threats to lock me out of my office while you are away.”

Blurr’s reaction to the mention of his impending trip to Velocitron was extremely interesting. There _was_ a brief flicker of regret when reminded of the fact that he wouldn’t be seeing Longarm for the duration of the medical leave; but it was overpowered by a much stronger wash of homesickness, longing and an elusive _something else_ that skirted the edges of recognition while stubbornly refusing to be identified.

_What_ was _that?_

It was singularly frustrating.

It was also the clearest impression Shockwave managed to acquire from Blurr’s EMF before returning the Agent to the custody of the medical staff and retired to his own quarters within Metroplex to think and plan.

_I shall have to seek information from alternative sources…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHOCKWAVE YOU OBLIVIOUS SACK OF BOLTS I'M ABOUT AT MY WITS' END WITH YOU.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blurr returns to Velocitron for medical care.

# Chapter Fifteen

 

Blurr kept a tight grip on his composure as he paced carefully through the spacebridge connection to Velocitron. He was an adult. He was a mature, professional Agent and he was NOT about to sprint through at top speed like a homesick sparkling.

No matter how badly he wanted to.

He did hurry a bit, though. He just couldn’t help it. It had been _so long_ since he’d been home that nobody would blame him for being eager to see familiar skies above him again, to feel the _right_ atmosphere circulating through his vents and the _right_ solar emissions warming his plating. Nobody on the other side of the swirling tunnel of reality-warping energy would blame him for wanting to get home just a little bit faster.

 _Home_.

Four steps.

Three.

One.

Then his pedes were meeting solid metal instead of plasmatic hard-light, his chemoreceptors reported the _right_ mixture of gases and the atmosphere hitting his filters held microscopic particles of contaminants that filled him with nostalgia. His optics slowly adjusted from the bright swirl of the spacebridge as the portal collapsed and vanished behind him, allowing him to focus in the dim light of the space bridge control room. A small group of mechs came into view; there were no others coming through the spacebridge so this was obviously his welcoming party. It warmed the Agent’s spark to think that so many would make time to come welcome him back, even for medical leave. He identified several familiar forms, extremely relieved to see the sweeping shapes that made up Knock Out’s distinctive top-heavy outline in the lineup.

_Thank Primus he’s here._

Blurr took extra care to keep his speech to normal Velocitronian speeds, determined not to rush the formalities. He had waited this long, he could wait a bit longer.

Finally, _finally_ he was carted off to Knock Out’s domain for a thorough checkup. It was the only place in the universe where he felt comfortable with having a medic poking around his code and internals.

“So those fancy Deltaraan Academy medics finally admitted they don’t know everything, huh?” Knock Out said, shooting Blurr a knowing smirk and a wink. “On the medberth if you please, Agent Blurr, and I’ll begin scanning.”

Blurr did as ordered, relaxing onto the soft surface of a medberth designed for light-plated Velocitronian frames. It felt amazing. If he hadn’t been so keyed up he would have snatched a quick nap while Knockout worked.

“My Medbay is one hundred percent secure, so we may speak freely, but you may check for yourself while the analysis runs if it will make you feel better.” Long claws flicked dismissively at Blurr when the scans finished. “You Intel types are all so paranoid.”

Sliding reluctantly off the medberth Blurr prowled around, giving the room a thorough inspection for surveillance devices while Knockout worked.

“It-doesn’t-hurt-to-get-a-second-set-of-optics-on-things-every-now-and-then.” Blurr observed, “What-do-you-know-about-the-circumstances-that-brought-me-here?”

“Cybertron forwarded me your _complete_ medical file.” Knockout’s voice was rich with disdain. “Or rather, it was as complete as they felt I needed. How much subspaced mass did you lose?”

“I’m-not-sure.” Blurr admitted, allowing his fingertips to transform so he could poke his claws into a suspicious looking gap in Knockout’s desk. “I-haven’t-dropped-this-form-since-I-returned-to-Metroplex.”

“That’s understandable.” Knockout said dryly as he tapped away at the complex keyboard. “From the records I got I’d say you lost a significant percentage.”

Humming acknowledgement, Blurr finished his exploration and returned to the medberth and watched the smooth, hypnotic movements of Knockout immersed in his calling.

“Comparing your mass now to what was logged when you left, I’m going to prescribe you additional metals and fuel of the correct strength for your frametype.” Knockout made a disgusted noise as he flicked the console screen into an idle configuration, turning to face Blurr with a serious expression. “Normally I would recommend you spend time with any Incubators you were intimately acquainted with, purely for psychological reasons but I’m afraid that your frame is going to need more than a casual hookup or two in order to recover. There are some compounds and alloys we simply can’t synthesise in high enough amounts for ingestion to be a feasible option. Let me know who you can’t stand and I’ll put a discreet word out that you’re in need of spoiling. In the meantime, Breakdown and I would love some company… if you’re interested?”

Raising an optical ridge, Blurr deliberately took his time looking Knockout up and down. He didn’t have it in him to do more than that, too long alone and with the offer of sharing a nest for the night with a strong, stable pairing? Deliberately reminding himself that he was safe with Kin he extended his Field, filled with _longing/please_ and the distinctive harmonics of his kind. Their kind. Knockout’s smile was far from his usual smirk as his Field flowed out to embrace Blurr’s with support and interest that appeared to be entirely genuine.

“With that out of the way, I’d like to keep you on Velocitron for several months after you’re physically stable.” The medic declared. This time he did smirk at the surges of delight and reflexive guilt in Blurr’s Field. “I thought you might like that, crazy workaholic. I’m concerned about the effects this period of extreme starvation and the plentiful fuel afterwards will have on you. Similar circumstances have been known to trigger spontaneous heats in Ovaria with stable cycles, let alone one as erratic as yours.”

_Oh for Pit’s sake…_

“I’ve-kept-a-record-of-every-one-since-leaving.” Blurr said, his engine growling sullenly. “I-will-decrypt-it-for-you. As-you-might-have-guessed-I-had-just-finished-a-solitary-cycle-just-before-that- _appalling_ -slag-up-of-a-mission;which-is-why-I’m-in-this-state-now.”

“If you could be so kind as to add notations indicate if you were able to spend any of those cycles with an Incubator and any encounters that resulted in Ampulla to that record it would make my job _much_ easier.” Knockout inspected his claws, then gave Blurr a challenging look. “It would also help me to determine if this is likely to send you into a phase of quick, hard cycles so we can plan accordingly. Our little Birdie was very worried about you.”

Blurr bristled despite himself. Neither Breakdown or Knockout were in any way related to the Seeker, but the social ties of the Clan still allowed him to use the diminutive affectionate when referring to her.

“She’s-easily-twice-your-height.” Blurr snapped. “In- _Cybertronian_ -form.”

“Touchy, touchy.” Knockout mocked, optics dropping to where Blurr’s pedes twitched away just above the floor. “Looks like you’re in dire need of a few hard laps of the track as well. Go now; eighty percent of your top speed and I’ll come collect you in an hour. Now scat, Doctor’s orders. Get out and let me work.”

Rolling his optics, Blurr couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he all but ran to do as ordered.

Debriefing with local commanders and his Elders could take place on the racetrack.

It always did.

 

### ~V~V~V~

 

As promised, Blurr found himself spending an evening in Breakdown’s nest with Knockout also in attendance. He’d never had this experience before, of being welcomed by an established pair and made to feel as at-home as if he actually was a part of the core from which their family ties extended.

Knockout hadn’t been exaggerating, Breakdown was the largest Incubator Blurr had ever encountered. His Syngnath form filled Blurr with a combination of lust and a very real worry that the Incubator would simply be too big for his frame to accommodate. The mated pair seemed confident that they could make this work, so Blurr bowed to superior experience and did his level best to give them the EMF overloads of their lives before Breakdown rumbled a laugh and rolled Blurr over. Blurr went with the shove, broadcasting smug amusement as he tipped his helm to the side so Breakdown could reach one of his horns without being stabbed in the face by his backswept helm.

Pinned chest-down against the padded blanket lining their nest, Blurr shivered and moaned with bliss as Breakdown slid carefully inside him. Feeling the pair’s Fields surround him as his claspers twined with Breakdowns and the Incubator began to fill him was intoxicating, reality-shattering and Blurr found himself sobbing with helpless pleasure as he overloaded over and over. Each soft package slipped into his chamber sent him higher and higher, each peak of pleasure greater than the last until he finally dropped offline; impaled, stuffed and overwhelmed by the attention being given to him.

It was much later than he expected when Blurr finally cycled up from overload-induced stasis. Awareness wasn’t so much of a chore when he was awakening in the comfort of a nest, surrounded by the warmth and gentle engine-purring closeness of multiple other frames.

“Think we could keep him, Kay?” Breakdown’s voice rumbled from the warmth behind Blurr. “I know how much you like blue and all.”

A speculative hum came from in front and overhead; Knockout’s EM Field blanketing Blurr in much the same way as his frame did as the red Ovaria groomed Blurr’s seams with gentle claws. Bringing his optics online was too much effort, so Blurr relaxed into the attention as the rest of his systems booted slowly.

“And it plays nicely into your race-car fetish, too.” Knockout sounded amused as he teased his mate. “But I think the Autobot Elite Guard would have an issue with us trying to take one of their best agents, assuming the agent in question would let us try.”

Smiling at the banter Blurr tucked the idea away for later consideration as he stretched and purred beneath Knockout’s claws, rolling onto his side so he could return the favour.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WANT TO FINISH THIS FIC SO I CAN WORK ON THE NEXT TWO IN THE SERIES TTnTT
> 
> ...Honestly it's a lot better to let mechs like Blurr have a supervised moderate-intensity workout than have them fidget and fret themselves into a straitjacket during convalescence -.-;
> 
> I also now ship these three SO HARD. If Blurr had stayed on Velocitron they would have made it a permanent triad OuO

**Author's Note:**

> For updates on the development of this fic and possible spoilers, I'll be tagging rubbish on Tumblr with 'BlurrWaveIPS' (Spoilers will be additionally marked with 'Spoilers? What Spoilers?' and hidden under Read-Mores)


End file.
